Fishing Creative Writing

I sat across from him, not daring to look up. I stared at my fishing pole, dipping it in and out of the water like a fish flopping in and out of the ocean. The vibration on my lips distracted me from the situation at hand. The rain pounded on my fisherman’s hat, like a shower of bullets. I began to hum. A monotonous tune. Soon I caught a glimpse of Tim, he appeared distraught and confused. His eyes darted left, then right, up, then down, and up again. “What is he thinking about?” I thought to myself helplessly. I truly had no idea what he was thinking of, I felt like a kid getting lost in a grocery store. We sat for roughly another hour on the boat. As Tim kept sitting on the edge of the boat, leaning over the edge and looking into the water, I reflected back on the past six days. I still remembered the first day he showed up, he arrived frantic, as he was now. He arrived at the front steps and I opened the door, at first glance I thought he was a drug addict. His eyes darting around as they were now, nervously and constantly biting …show more content…
But then I heard a sound. Small at first, then getting bigger. It was Tim, crying at the bow of the boat. He sobs got louder and louder. A grown man, crying like a small child. Now I knew. He was in a dilemma. Either going to war and facing the great fear of death, or going to Canada and be known as a coward by his family and his hometown. I focused on my fishing rod, my red and white bobber on the Rainy River. I said nothing, I simply just sat. However, my mute watchfulness somehow made Tim’s problem real. “Ain’t biting,” I said. I broke the silence with those wordslasted for about two hours. My voice echoed throughout the lake. I waited for a while to seem what Tim was going to do. Once I was sure that he was not going to jump, I pulled my line out of the water. I turned the ignition, and steered the boat back toward