Fishing with Dynamite

The explosion was more of a thud than a bang.  The water spouted medium high with abrupt splashing.

“Hell!  What the hell?”  The small guy had been taking a nap in the morning sun.  He had driven all night while the big guy slept.  Even though it was just a thud, the explosion woke him from a deep slept.  He thought for a moment he was back in Iraq.  He reached for his gun.  He didn’t have one now.  “What the hell?”  There weren’t such big lakes in Iraq.  It wasn’t Iraq he remembered.  He was in Missouri or was it Kansas?  Didn’t matter as long as it wasn’t Iraq!

The big guy was in his underwear, wading into the water.  “Getting lunch. Bomb is better than a hook, I always say.”  He called back over his shoulder.  He only picked the biggest fish that floated to the surface.  “You like sushi?”

“Uhm!  Not really and I heard freshwater sushi is dangerous.”  The small guy was sweaty hot from the sun.

“Shellfish are dangerous.  Yeah.”  The big guy saw a monster catfish rise to the surface.  It struggled to return to the bottom, but it was too injured to succeed.  The big guy threw the stunned dead fish he already had in his hands onto the bank and swam out for the catfish.  When he reached for it, the dying catfish flipped just one last time stabbing the big guy in the hand with its long sharp pectoral fin.  “Fuckin!  Hell Belly!”

“Catfish bite you, Jack?”  The small guy stood up.  He was still sleepy but he was even hungrier.  “Make a fire.  Cook all of it.  Eat most.”

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This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)