Tuesday, March 31, 2009


John's muscles screamed, his pole bent within a hair of its limit. If not for the dock being dry he surely would've slipped off hours ago.

"Come on!" he said, pulling, tugging, yanking, jerking . . . seaweed collecting around the reel as he struggled against wind, weight and water.

Exhasuted, John sat for a few seconds as his catch flopped around, cursing him. He mustered enough strength to remove the hook from the inside of his grandmother's cheek, then rolled her back into the Atlantic.

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