The Fisherman
The sky was dark and pressing. Tiny flecks of light held on the ceiling. My skin felt stitched to the asphalt. I peeled myself up to a sitting position, wiped the sleep from my eyes and gazed into a deserted parking lot. Streetlamps illuminated lily pads of light in a sea of darkness. A quiet breeze dragged aluminum cans and plastic bags across vacant parking spots. The litter weaved and moved, replacing the ebb and flow of the daily traffic. Shrubs scraped against curbs and walls. Velvet moon glow reflected white off jagged ponds of water. The position of the moon told me it was in the small hours of the night.
As my eyes adjusted to the darkness I stood up. The dark lot had watched over me for long enough. I thanked her for her hospitality and made my way to the road. A half dome bus stop sat luminous against the street. I picked up a newspaper inside, sat down and read the date. The silence coming off the night was deafening. The air felt heavy and weightless at the same time. I decided not to wait for the bus and began walking west towards the coast. I wanted to feel the sun burn the darkness off my shoulders.
As I walked the darkness began to fade. The stars began to wane. I was extremely aware of a soft light filling in all around me, encompassing my every step. As the sun pierced the horizon I felt beams of orange warm light prick my neck and lift the damp off my back. Dew dripped off patches of grass pushing up between sidewalk slabs. The night was melting away.
The coast opened before me like the open arms of a distant stranger. It was guiding me. Not pushing or pulling. The sun burned behind me but the sky at the end of the boardwalk hung onto the night; deep purple clouds loomed over the cold grey sea. The beast churned thoughtfully, throwing waves against the wooden struts that supported the long boardwalk. The last remnants of the night hung lingering, waiting at the end of the infinite pier. A tiny speck of a figure also waited beneath the capricious wine sky.
The sound of the waves knocking on the struts became louder as I walked further down the boardwalk, warnings of the nebulous deep. The sea breeze picked up and pressed my shirt to my torso. The briny wind opened my nostrils and filled my lungs. Tiny droplets of mist clung to my beard. The figure at the end of the boardwalk seemed to be a fisherman.
The fisherman stood stone cold still. His dark boots and pants welded to the wood. His bright yellow poncho flapped in the breeze. The outer rim of the sky shifted to a magnificent magenta pulling at the darkness. I walked up next to the man without turning towards him and rested my hands on the damp wood railing. Grey green water met a deep purple horizon. Millions of miles of darkness extended far over the water. Long shadows painted the earth behind me, but no shadow could reach us out here. We were suspended on the outcropping of time, wavering between worlds.
I turned to look at the fisherman. His straggled white hair crawled out of his yellow hood and met his long burly beard. His eyes were as hard as diamonds and somehow tranquil. “Are they biting?” I asked. He kept his head seaward and took a breath. His whiskey soaked voice cracked to life. “I’ve been fishing here my whole life and haven’t caught a single fish.” I looked back to the sea. The sky was beginning to open and a thin sheen emanated off the water. “Why haven’t you tried a new spot, or something different altogether?” I asked. He simply shrugged his shoulders and readjusted his footing.
We stood there and watched the sky come to life, streaks and strokes of light washed away the surviving night. When the last drop of darkness dripped from the sky I turned around and began walking back to shore. As I walked back to the world, I swear, I heard the fisherman’s line tighten.
Ryan Hardgrove is searching the deep. Some upcoming publications include poetry in another online zine, “H.O.D” (Handful of Dust) and also a printed journal, “Penny-ante-feud”. He also works on film and is currently laboring over a series of short films. Keep your eyes open for DARK BLOOM PRODUCTIONS.
