My First Short Story

Red Bobber

I didn’t expect the line to snap when I wound the handle faster. One might suggest it was out of my own eagerness or impatience that caused the acceleration in my hand to strain the wire beyond its limit. I didn’t even expect to catch anything, but there I was, standing on the pond’s bank thrusting my entire body backward while vigorously reigning in my prize, when the line snapped.

My grandpa said it was not my fault, that sometimes lines just break. Besides, the fish isn’t going to live much longer now that the bobber keeps him near the surface.  I listened to my grandpa in his attempt to ease my sorrow as I watched the bright red bobber, that deadly tracking device, bounce across the surface of the pond. Was he surprised that the line snapped as well? Did his fears match my own when we were both suddenly dragged into a spirited game of tug and war? Is he too saddened that no one won the match, that in the end both sides lost? Does he also lament the pain of defeat represented in that red flag of truce that repeatedly undulates in the water?

The rattling of trinkets breaks the forest’s murmur as my grandpa fails to find another bobber. Perhaps another day, he says. And so, I regretfully follow my grandpa back to the truck, turning my back on the red buoy that continues circling the outskirts of the pond.