Published: November 8, 2007

In the morning he set his course, he set his belongings, he set his rod and reel, and he set sail. Each day, further into sea than the day before; deeper. He needed sharks not minnows. His mind inadvertently drawing parallels between these excursions and his life. He would get nauseous, and blame it on the sea. He pulled out of the harbor, his mind skeptical but optimistic.

Blue, cold, flowing, harsh, fast, strong, encompassing, overwhelming, unstoppable, never-ending, rushing, cascading, pushing, pulling, bashing, banging, destroying, sinking. The sky was filled with explosions of light that streaked and swirled, parting the dark. The only sound was rain—rain and footsteps, pounding footsteps, across wood. The explosions were distant but real; too far to illuminate but growing closer, hunting.

The sun was bright as he lay sprawled on the deck, the rods swaying. The only nibbling was his own—fingernails. The wind was calm but present. His mind was at ease, his nausea subsiding. He watched as the wind blew the tips of the rods, bending them in line, like a row of dominos. But then one of the dominos was missing, as if plucked out before the chain reaction had begun. Instinct directed the man as he jumped to the rod, its tip bent so far it could touch the crests of the waves. He pulled. He twisted. He pulled. He bent. He pulled. He stretched. Could he see it? Its back as blue as the water—a Blue Marlin. His heart jumped, his rod jumped. But, then he paused, it wasn’t the fish’s back he had seen; it was only its head.

The footsteps continued to pound along the wounded vessel that swayed and rocked, crying. It happened in the night. The course was set and the sailing was smooth. The anticipation of morning air became the flood. The rain in sheets, sheets to suffocate not to comfort.

The boat seemed to drag at one end, toting its new cargo; the captain now brimming with pride and pleasure. The biggest Blue Marlin he had ever seen was on his ship. His thoughts were clear, his stomach felt fine. The day was coming to a close and for the first time in a long time, he awaited his return to harbor. He set his course and retired for the evening. Soon he would be home.

The explosions were on the vessel now, a bright yellow coat periodically visible. With each blat it became visible, the smooth sailing and the morning air, replaced by a rock, harpooned through the hull. His face was stunned blank, and the rain continued.