The Fisherman
Image credit: Chile Today
My wonderful uncle, Paul, provided some great fodder for a prompt-inspired short story by sharing some of his own fishing stories. He’s fished and snorkeled all over the place, so I wrote a short story based on his long and lovely stories about fishing in the ocean.
Don’t ask me why fishing in the ocean makes me think of the Great Pacific Garbage Patch. I am not sure why I thought of it; I probably just read way too much apocalypse-type fiction. Also, I recently watched Love Death + Robots, and one of the episodes mentions microplastics, so that has been on my mind.
The Fisherman
by J.S. Douglas
Diving deep, a fisherman named Michael held his makeshift net, waiting for a school of fish or some other animal to swim into it. He floated, breathing through his scuba tank and watching as shreds of plastic floated by.
Checking his air gauge, he saw that it was getting low.
No way to replace it, he thought. This will be my last haul.
He wondered what he’d do then. Would he dive down without his tank, hoping he could hold his breath long enough to wrest some kind of food from the sea? That seemed unlikely. Maybe he would get lucky and find something else he could recycle into fishing gear. Like a handle for his net.
Not long ago, he’d been the king of the ocean in his little fiberglass vessel. He had a desalinator and plenty of food. The boat was gassed up and ready for a jaunt to nowhere.
Now, three weeks later, his radio was knocked out, the nearest landmass had been hit by a monster hurricane, and he was stuck on a plastic island with the wreckage of his vessel, the desalinator, and a net he’d fashioned out of six-pack rings.
Three silvery fish wriggled into the makeshift net, getting caught in the plastic. Michael quickly clasped the net around them and swam up through the microplastics, then the larger plastics, and finally the bottles, fiberglass, and other floating debris. He dropped his net onto a large piece of foam and then pulled himself onto what was left of his fiberglass hull.
Trash stretched out for miles, filling the calm ocean as far as he could see.
Maybe tomorrow, he’d find a way to haul his little patch of the hull through the debris and out the other side. Or, maybe he’d fashion a net that he could dip down below the garbage.
Now, though, he’d enjoy his sashimi and watch the clear, blue sky.
End
Thanks for reading! See you next week.