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Ripples quickly faded into the vast waters around the line that tugged at the catch below, the radio stirring splashing water on the treated wood of the boat as the scruffy fisherman fought against his dinner. His skin was burnt by the scorching sun, indicative of how long they had been out here trying to wrestle what little Opealon had to offer in its less infested waters. His ragged trousers and bleached shirt barely protected him from the harshness of the ocean. The sturdy rod struggled with the strength of the fish, forcing the fisherman to brace his foot against the edge and pull even harder, the rod bending fiercely down into the water.
Another fisherman watched while relaxing against the sloops cabin, amused by his friend’s battle. He seemed much older, having grey streaks through his hair and beard as he held a bottle of moonshine that he occasionally took a swig from. His outfit was much more colorful, and he sported shorts and a jacket that he wore over a tank top, in much better shape than his partner.
“My money is on the fish if you are having that much trouble!”
“Shut the hell up and grab the net, if this one gets away, I’m putting you over the damn stove!”
After a hearty laugh, the older fisherman, getting ready as they peeked over the edge and into the water, quickly scooping up as the fish came to the surface. However, instead of the shiny scales and flopping tail of a fish, the fisherman scooped up a large green blob that held the fish inside, partially digested. It barely had any scales and blood poured from the flesh that was exposed to the jelly-like creature from the inside. The poor prey convulsed and seemed to still be alive, though how, one could only guess.
The steaming fisherman cut the line and punched the nearby mast. “Goddamn jellyfish. Ruined all of the meat with whatever stomach acid it probably chucked up on it. Fuck it, throw it in the barrel and maybe we can wash it off or make a good stew, I’m too damn hungry for this shit.”
The older fisherman quickly dumped the green glob and its meal into a barrel and closed it. The smell of rot permeated through the salty sea air, even after being sealed away. The net that the fisherman held the slime in was falling apart, the string soaked and tearing with ease. It sent a chill up the fisherman’s spine, but he thought nothing else of it.
“I’m telling you, it’s all about patience. We ate at sunrise and it’s not even noon yet. You better be a better pirate than a fisherman, because that would be the only way you even last a week on your own out here.”
The younger man with the scraggly goatee simple spit into the ocean and retreated back into the cabin. It appeared that if they were going to eat tonight, the old man would have to catch it himself. With a sigh, he waddled over and sat at the edge of the portside of the sloop, baiting his line and casting it before taking a seat in the sun. He reached over and opened a chest to retrieve his wide-brimmed hat, perfect for such an occasion. It wasn’t the first time a net broke while on a trip, it would just take a bit more to make sure he secured the catch.
Behind him, the barrel began to bubble, unnoticed by the two men. The lid slowly slid as the slime began to spill out the top onto the boat, no longer having the fish inside it. In fact, if one were to look, the fish would be nowhere to be found, and and the treated wood of the barrel seemed to be almost rotting, easily softening and breaking away as the slime spread, still hungering for another meal. One might almost assume that the slime was smelling the air, and if the slime could speak, it would be thinking of one thing.
Fresh meat.
Another fisherman watched while relaxing against the sloops cabin, amused by his friend’s battle. He seemed much older, having grey streaks through his hair and beard as he held a bottle of moonshine that he occasionally took a swig from. His outfit was much more colorful, and he sported shorts and a jacket that he wore over a tank top, in much better shape than his partner.
“My money is on the fish if you are having that much trouble!”
“Shut the hell up and grab the net, if this one gets away, I’m putting you over the damn stove!”
After a hearty laugh, the older fisherman, getting ready as they peeked over the edge and into the water, quickly scooping up as the fish came to the surface. However, instead of the shiny scales and flopping tail of a fish, the fisherman scooped up a large green blob that held the fish inside, partially digested. It barely had any scales and blood poured from the flesh that was exposed to the jelly-like creature from the inside. The poor prey convulsed and seemed to still be alive, though how, one could only guess.
The steaming fisherman cut the line and punched the nearby mast. “Goddamn jellyfish. Ruined all of the meat with whatever stomach acid it probably chucked up on it. Fuck it, throw it in the barrel and maybe we can wash it off or make a good stew, I’m too damn hungry for this shit.”
The older fisherman quickly dumped the green glob and its meal into a barrel and closed it. The smell of rot permeated through the salty sea air, even after being sealed away. The net that the fisherman held the slime in was falling apart, the string soaked and tearing with ease. It sent a chill up the fisherman’s spine, but he thought nothing else of it.
“I’m telling you, it’s all about patience. We ate at sunrise and it’s not even noon yet. You better be a better pirate than a fisherman, because that would be the only way you even last a week on your own out here.”
The younger man with the scraggly goatee simple spit into the ocean and retreated back into the cabin. It appeared that if they were going to eat tonight, the old man would have to catch it himself. With a sigh, he waddled over and sat at the edge of the portside of the sloop, baiting his line and casting it before taking a seat in the sun. He reached over and opened a chest to retrieve his wide-brimmed hat, perfect for such an occasion. It wasn’t the first time a net broke while on a trip, it would just take a bit more to make sure he secured the catch.
Behind him, the barrel began to bubble, unnoticed by the two men. The lid slowly slid as the slime began to spill out the top onto the boat, no longer having the fish inside it. In fact, if one were to look, the fish would be nowhere to be found, and and the treated wood of the barrel seemed to be almost rotting, easily softening and breaking away as the slime spread, still hungering for another meal. One might almost assume that the slime was smelling the air, and if the slime could speak, it would be thinking of one thing.
Fresh meat.