Let's Paint a Picture: Trout Fishing

The groaning never stops. Whatever it could be? A beast? The wiggling tongue of an unimaginably tall and bearded Abrahamic God laughing with lust of the fallacious and depraved creation he thrust out into the void of floating marbles, asteroid, and milk projections? Whatever it is, it must be alive. Its echoes cause the outlines of these purple stones to vibrate aggressively, and it never ceases. The corridors stretch on in every direction for what seems like eternities. I’ve walked over one hundred thousand steps in one direction and yet the purple remains fully solid. Strangely enough, twelve uniform twelve steps backward while humming the tune of hot cross buns places me in the hall of the great atrium, which is round and punctuated by doors upon doors at every which angle. In the center, there is a looking glass, a strange mechanical seeming piece. But whether it is mechanical or otherwise, I cannot say. It may be driven by steam, coal, biology, meat or divination. All I know is when I glance into the kaleidoscopic glass the lens reflects a reality much like I can faintly recall from my previous state, deep in the woods.

In those woods, is a man standing slightly above ankle deep brown rushing water faster upwards towards a snowcap up north in these White Mountains. A gradient projected, phthalo blue and alizarin crimson and at dusk the sky is fire. The trees still stands bare as toothpicks, though gnawed and bent and slathered in a thin layer of a viscous dark cyan ooze. On either sides of the bank, soft rolling mounds of dry dirt-like dust stretch for miles, and falling ash lands in the dust and on the hat and in the beard and on the vested shoulders of the fisherman while the brown water snakes along the rubber of his yellow-green boots at the height of his ankles.

The groaning projected itself into the world inhabited by the fisherman, the vibration spilled over, yet curiously it did not seem to affect him. His vision remained focused on the line and the rod. A natural ebb flowed through him as his white knuckled fingers curled tensely around its bamboo grip. TROUT here and there sprung from the rushing brown water, occasionally puncturing his naked legs with a gift of a silvery white scale. Blood seeped down into the rubber boot, and his feet, pruned and wrinkled and colored with the brownish red mixture collecting at the bottom.

Suddenly, the line pulled through the runner and the reel spun so fast it tangled itself between his hand and the seat of the rod. Hooked through the mouth on the end of the line; a large silvertailed trout, thrashing for life. Droplets sprayed haphazardly in the brown-white foam of the whirlpool of struggle. The line dug deep into the fishermans calloused hand flesh and pulled him unwillingly in a whirlwind of pain as blood dripped on his beige vest and down his beige shorts. The trout pulled and pulled, and he tripped over an obscured spread of loose rock lying in the riverbed. He found himself face down with his hand caught in the line pulled upwards over his head. His blood gushing as it became one with the running flow of the water.

The groaning grew stronger then. He plied himself up on his hands and knees, the line digging deeper now, needles of pain stabbing along the edges of the worsening wound. He screamed, feeling in his vest for a pocket knife to alleviate the worsening pain. He unfastened the knife and its dull metallic edge caught the line and snapped it. The rod flowed down the river with the silvertailed trout as he sat looking defeated down the snaking river before the rod and the fish disappeared around the horseshoe bend.

With his uninjured hand, he splashed the water in anger and with it the entire world began vibrating. It became apparent with the fear in his eyes that he could now feel it. The churning of the god, the utmost gradation as its power increased in intensity. Like worsening feedback, exacerbated thrice itself by the mere second. He shut his eyes tightly and covered his ears in fear. He should have ran. Behind him, a trout the size of a whale, with mouth punctured by a hook the size of a large anchor followed by a bamboo rod with the thickness of a tree trunk swallowed him whole.

For more articles by Vivian Mauve, click here. To get in touch with this writer, email mauve.vivian@surrealtimes.net.


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