Awakening, calm and peaceful like.
A single tendril of a storyline clinging to my consciousness. Altered by its flavor, I am curled within a series of confident thoughts. Familiarity blossoms all the way down, as would the fluid recursions of a Mandelbrot set. And yet, with the alacrity of a(more) skin walker, slipping in and out of lives, in an instant the pattern is broken. What was has been hidden, waiting to be reborn behind the veil of the dream state.
There is something relaxing, something of a verisimilitude in fishing.
To me there's no greater joy than to just sit under the moon and stare at my fishing line, bobbing in the water. Catching perch, pike - pure heaven.
That was, of course, back when I only caught fish.(more) The change came on slowly, at first. Maybe instead of some chub or trout I'd pull up an old boot or a tire. It seemed so cliche. A boot? Really?
I thought that sort of thing only happened in comics or movies, but I passed it off as a fluke and kept on fishing, my mind untroubled.
Then the flow of weird items increased. I'd feel a slight tug on my line and then the steady pull of the thing's weight, and up it would come. I hardly caught fish anymore, it was just driftwood, clothes, shoes, tires, things.
One time I caught something too heavy and I couldn't pull it up. It was about then that I started to think that it was someone screwing with me.
It wasn't rational at all, but that's what I thought. I began to shun that lake, began to go fishing less and less, moved away eventually.
I came back, eventually. Arkadina took me back to the estate to visit her dying brother, and while I was there staying with Peter, I had the dream.
I saw her. I can't explain it.
Her hair was seaweed, her eyes pearls, her skin a gentle tone of blue.
I loved her at first glance.
I fish every day now, down at the lake, hoping for a glimpse of a strand of seaweed, a glint of a pearly eye, waiting for the current that will capsize the boat and send me down to be with her forever.