the reaching ocean you are mine
Friday was Jack's favorite day of the week. He loved waking up before the sun and heading for the beach. He loved swimming. He loved the nets and lines. Every Friday he brought in a catch for the kitchen and the feeling of usefulness he got from the act was unrivaled by anything else he did during the week.
Sometimes he thought back to how he'd gotten started. Providing for the kitchen had been little more than an afterthought. He'd started diving for pearls and it had been a waste to throw the shellfish away when he'd collected his prizes. The activity had grown from there. Diving for shellfish became diving for other creatures. Crabs and lobsters and urchins of all sorts. And then he'd gotten ambitious and had started spear fishing. That had prompted him to craft himself a net and that was one of his favorite things. It got him the biggest haul with the least amount of work- not to say that it wasn't hard work, simply easier than catching the fish one at a time.
Jack was at the dock. The sun was getting hotter and warmed his bare skin. He'd long since found that doing this in just shorts was best. Less laundry to do at the end of the day. He'd tied up his boat and was sorting through what had come up in his net. Some fish he unceremoniously pitched off the dock, setting them free to live out the rest of their lives in the ocean. Other fish went into his basket. He noted the places in the net that needed repaired and knew what he'd be doing this afternoon.
And then he pulled out his knife and began to gut the fish off the end of the dock. Letting the offal fall back into the water was a treat for the scavengers who swam beneath him. He did this every week and with years of practice his knife flashed in the morning sunlight. Cut, pull, scoop, drop, basket, repeat.
It wasn't long before he was nearly done and could head back to the compound to surprise Bill with the selection for dinner.
[Catch him on the dock or walking back, or even in the kitchen if you'd rather, just let me know!]
Sometimes he thought back to how he'd gotten started. Providing for the kitchen had been little more than an afterthought. He'd started diving for pearls and it had been a waste to throw the shellfish away when he'd collected his prizes. The activity had grown from there. Diving for shellfish became diving for other creatures. Crabs and lobsters and urchins of all sorts. And then he'd gotten ambitious and had started spear fishing. That had prompted him to craft himself a net and that was one of his favorite things. It got him the biggest haul with the least amount of work- not to say that it wasn't hard work, simply easier than catching the fish one at a time.
Jack was at the dock. The sun was getting hotter and warmed his bare skin. He'd long since found that doing this in just shorts was best. Less laundry to do at the end of the day. He'd tied up his boat and was sorting through what had come up in his net. Some fish he unceremoniously pitched off the dock, setting them free to live out the rest of their lives in the ocean. Other fish went into his basket. He noted the places in the net that needed repaired and knew what he'd be doing this afternoon.
And then he pulled out his knife and began to gut the fish off the end of the dock. Letting the offal fall back into the water was a treat for the scavengers who swam beneath him. He did this every week and with years of practice his knife flashed in the morning sunlight. Cut, pull, scoop, drop, basket, repeat.
It wasn't long before he was nearly done and could head back to the compound to surprise Bill with the selection for dinner.
[Catch him on the dock or walking back, or even in the kitchen if you'd rather, just let me know!]