Fiction: Group 4
New Tales of the Pearl River Delta
Island School, Saunders, Ethan - 14, Fiction: Group 4
soft, calming voice whistled through the trees, calling the leaves and stray petals to flutter down to
the ground at the behest of the wind. Just as softly, cold fingers stretched across the fisherman's back
and lay there, letting the normally harsh winter wind slowly seep into his body until he was just as
cold as the water he hunted in but far less angry. Ripples pulsed outwards from his bobbing lure like the call
of his bait; summoning the tiny bounty of small fish to gather around his boat. The fisherman had long
before fallen half to sleep listening to the lullabies of the water and the wind united in their fleeting
romance.
On such a day fishing would prove mostly fruitless and few tasty prizes would be brought home, but this did
not stop the man from indulging his daily habit of waiting for the next tiny disturbance so that his rest
afterwards would be all the more soothing. Today was no exception, with each tiny tug at his line he would
suddenly spring to action in the blink of an eye, the snap of a finger, executing his strategy to remove the
hungry fish from its home. Years of experience and times of necessity had long ago worn away his
discomfort at stealing away a small creature from its river habitat so he could kill it, further adding to the
almost monk-like meditative state he resided in now. Not a thing but the collapse of the sky itself would
wake him from his self-invoked trance and that was exactly how he preferred to fish.
Unfortunately for his calm state of mind, it lived within a mortal body of flesh and blood, both hungering
for heat and the comforting token of a warm meal in a well-worn chair. A warm meal was the best he
could hope for, with the winter as it was at this time, but to remain here would be an even worse situation
for heat and for the continuation of his life.
The next day swept away the night sky far too late, leaving the fragile man to shiver and tremble in the grasp
of winter's sadistic side for longer than he would wish for; a new day meant another trip out onto the river
where the slow currents could wash away his discontent and resentment of the biting cold until the next
night.
The cycle repeated itself each night until the New Year rolled in, with each night growing more cruel and
more laborious than the last until its crescendo at the longest night of the year, the solstice. Slowly, his
contempt for the starry blackness above his home began to curl up for the coming months, much the same
as a flower tightening around itself in protection against the winter. His trips onto the water were
increasingly long and the trophies he brought back gave more to those warm meals he enjoyed and soon the
spring arrived, carrying only a slight nip of cold with it where the winter had brought a full bite.
With warmer water rushing by every day, he was able to swim and to bathe in the river, provided he
ignored the increasing numbers of debris and trash that would often frequent the bank as the icy dams of the
winter let the jagged edges of plastic and metal that would float or drag through the riverbed. His catch
grew to a steady number just an increment more than he needed for his complaining stomach, though
something felt wrong, something was just not quite right. The soft voice that would greet him every
morning and the hands that would rustle his hair and the branches above him had grown weak, a sickly
groan rather than a vibrant hum.
In many blinks of an eye, it was summer. The leaves on the trees caught hold of the sunlight and rode it up
onto the tree branches once more to bathe in its hot hue. Small creatures scurried up from their burrows and
onto their arborous stage where their chirps and squeaks created a strange opera of nature's charm. Odes to
the coming of lovely summer rang out through every inch of the river and his line drew armies of aquatic
animals to his joyful company. Peace seemed the battlecry for the inhabitants of the river; the fisherman
almost forgot the sickness in the air.
Fall came to the dismay of the now spindly trees around his little home, but he took a quiet pleasure in it all.
Silence and stillness mixed with the stirring of the rivers waters to create a beautifying potion for the world.
All seemed lovely, all seemed so perfectly combined that if not for that unnatural, undead aura that
permeated the wind and water. Their passionate romance seemed to drift apart into hidden glares and
resentful whispers as they grew more and more unhealthy. This unsettling despair seemed to strike
everything it touched in some way, sneaking into the crevasses and pores of every bit of life that dared poke
its head out of the dirt. Even the fisherman felt it, but his calm mind and still thoughts kept worries or
stresses at bay; he knew they would wash away in the waters of the river just as all the others had.
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