Gone Fishing

Motor off, the current pushes them along the river.  James studies the murky blackness only a few inches below the surface.

“It’s fifty feet to the bottom,” says Father as James leans over the edge to get a clearer look.

James quickly steps back, releasing the rope attached to his plastic yellow boat.  That toy was his constant companion, the last thing his mother had given him before she left.

James watches the boat drift away, rope trailing behind.  He begins to cry.

“Quiet, you’ll scare the fish,” Father hisses.

James wishes his father wouldn’t take him sport fishing.


This post was written for the Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction prompt for October 8, 2014.


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