Spiritual Fan Fiction posted October 20, 2017

Not yet exceptional. When the exceptional rating is reached this is highlighted
A barely embellished memoir spanning past and present.

Club Extraordinaire

by Albedo039

Gently, I slipped another wet body into the dark mirrored water. Taking care was of the utmost importance; the slightest sound could ruin my chances.
The moon was escaping from view now, gradually fading . The sun would soon begin to burn away the silky strands of mist that lingered over the lake, like spider webs cast adrift, feeling the air as they went.
Just then, a shriek cried out. I quickly looked about me, eyes wide at full alert, senses scanning
left - ahead - then right. Of where or what it was, I could not be sure. Some screams I know, are not borne of distress or sinister intent. Perhaps a fox or other night owl.
My eyes fix at the end of the lake and to my right. I could make out two figures and then, yes, a third one, seems to glide into view. At first I question if my sight plays tricks upon me, for the outlines are not distinct especially in this dim arena. If I kept quiet, I resolved, they would not notice me; darkly dressed in camouflaged fatigues, lurking at the edge of the undergrowth. The lake is almost completely ringed by trees of various kinds, set back from the edge, by three or four yards, at vantage points such as mine. The lower trunks are shrouded in ivy leaves which provide a constant accompaniment as they lazily flap in the cool breeze.
Anyway, I see that those humanoid figures now appear to move away from me, toward the other side. I breathe again.

Reaching for the paraffin lamp, I turn down the wick to quench its homely glow. The flickering light and familiar smell had kept me from dozing off since midnight. Adrenalin was also useful to this end, brought on by any harsh sound or even a strange sight. As I pulled back my hand, the cuff of my combat jacket caught on something; the pot, eight inches in diameter tumbled downward and flipped over in the mud, spilling the contents.
'Damn', I exclaimed through clenched teeth, fumbling for the torch. Beaming around, I searched for escapees.
'Maggots maggots, everywhere!' Some were already seeking refuge, burrowing with inbred haste or instinct, into the mud, toward the centre of the earth. At least in my minds' eye. Visions of some unearthly machines came to me, like some fantastical creations penned by Jules Verne. I mused. I was doing this more often these days.
'When properly considered; how strange life is.' I was talking to myself too.
Job done, I carried on with lifes brutal truth. Two pinkies and a bronze are chosen for the bait.
Skin pinched and then impaled upon the crystal bend, barbed, size twelve, blue steel hook.
These poor orphans now, by my hand, condemned to a watery slow suffocation, with concurrent hanging.
The horror! No comfort can be theirs. Just a vague memory of their last juicy, rotting, meal.

Now in my world this lake is something really special. A chance to fish in a natural place, a private place, untied by commercial greed and environmental compromise. That and the memories this haunt provokes. Like something straight out of an olden angling journal, of which I had eagerly read; lost to time and perhaps lost on the 'younger' generation.
Beyond the other side sits the house. A stately home, no less, atop a rise of the neatly cut field, so that windows on both levels have a commanding view of the lake and its follies. Late in the evening the warming glow from the tungsten lights had come shimmering towards me as I tried to catch a glimpse of shadows passing across the windows. Perhaps to sense that life was carrying on.
Just to be here once a year is enough; too much of a good thing... well, maybe that wouldn't apply in this case, I mused.
My father and I usually gained permission to fish in mid June or July. September was late. Even so, a speedily written note had once more done the deed and secured a brief permit note by return of post. From the captain himself. Yet, I could tell that he may have struggled to remember me, not helped by my five year absence. Mundane things had got the better of me. In the end, I knew that the draw of the outdoors, the sound of bird song and a sense of 'being' , was what I wanted. What I needed.

This is a start I made on a short story, to be continued.. perhaps. Responses will be very much appreciated. Thank you.
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© Copyright 2017. Albedo039 All rights reserved.
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