Titanosaurus
05-01-2009, 07:32 PM
BLACK SKIES
Roy Nolan strolled down out from the woods. He was a man of about 40, although he often told others that he was around 35, but that's beside the point.
Roy still strolled, a little slowly due to his gimp leg. As he reached the edge of Harrow's Lake hidden behind the labyrinthian forest, he stopped and stared to the sky above. It was like any other Sunday morning in Washington state. The clouds were black as night, mishapen, foreboding masses of looming fluff. No sun peered through the mass.
Roy shivered.
He ajusted his fishing cap (it read in colorful exuberence BASSMASTER) and came to the dock. Tied to the end was his lucky boat, Barbara, named after his recently-passed dearly-beloved. Roy stared at the sky once more and sighed.
About an hour later Roy was damn near asleep. He had gotten a bite mere minutes after arriving at the lake's middle, but after that, nothing. He pulled his rod up out of the water's placid depths and slung it over his shoulder. His watch read 8:22. It was time to call it a morning.
Roy was just ready to motor his way back to shore when a considerably large splash caught him off guard. It came from a small island just a few hundred yards to his left. Ripples still skimed across the water's crest. It must've been the catch of the week, and it was just under Roy's wooden craft.
He cast his line, bait in place at end, and bided his time. About five minutes later, Roy was in a wrestling match he hadn't planned on. The creature below him was wretching back and forth, wildly trying to free its sorry ass, but Roy kept strong.
But then it was too late. Roy felt the lake's greyish waters envelop him as he was yanked overboard by almost primordial force. A few seconds of gasping, and he was back on deck. Cold, shivering, hoping the fish hadn't got away. He stared to his right and saw his $50 rod snapped in 3 pieces, floating in the water like forgotten debris.
Roy shouted an obscenity at God. What it got him was the boat nearly being tipped over as he watched in awe as a snarling figure arose from the deep. He stared 14, no, 20 feet in the air as his catch of the week towered above him. It's slimey skin was a lifeless, dark purple, it's eyes a doll-eye black, sitting in a head atop a slithering long neck connected to a reptilian, primitive structure.
Roy and the beast made eye contact. A fishy fin rose on it's scaly head, and the monster snarled, baring its curved, yellow teeth. From the depths of its inside came out a heart-stopping roar, one that matched with the deathly black clouds above him. And finally, without so much as a splash, it slithered back under to its wet home.
A ray of sunlight shone right over Roy and his splintering boat. He took off his hat and crumpled it slightly. "Sundays don't start much better than this!" he finally gasped out.
Roy Nolan strolled down out from the woods. He was a man of about 40, although he often told others that he was around 35, but that's beside the point.
Roy still strolled, a little slowly due to his gimp leg. As he reached the edge of Harrow's Lake hidden behind the labyrinthian forest, he stopped and stared to the sky above. It was like any other Sunday morning in Washington state. The clouds were black as night, mishapen, foreboding masses of looming fluff. No sun peered through the mass.
Roy shivered.
He ajusted his fishing cap (it read in colorful exuberence BASSMASTER) and came to the dock. Tied to the end was his lucky boat, Barbara, named after his recently-passed dearly-beloved. Roy stared at the sky once more and sighed.
About an hour later Roy was damn near asleep. He had gotten a bite mere minutes after arriving at the lake's middle, but after that, nothing. He pulled his rod up out of the water's placid depths and slung it over his shoulder. His watch read 8:22. It was time to call it a morning.
Roy was just ready to motor his way back to shore when a considerably large splash caught him off guard. It came from a small island just a few hundred yards to his left. Ripples still skimed across the water's crest. It must've been the catch of the week, and it was just under Roy's wooden craft.
He cast his line, bait in place at end, and bided his time. About five minutes later, Roy was in a wrestling match he hadn't planned on. The creature below him was wretching back and forth, wildly trying to free its sorry ass, but Roy kept strong.
But then it was too late. Roy felt the lake's greyish waters envelop him as he was yanked overboard by almost primordial force. A few seconds of gasping, and he was back on deck. Cold, shivering, hoping the fish hadn't got away. He stared to his right and saw his $50 rod snapped in 3 pieces, floating in the water like forgotten debris.
Roy shouted an obscenity at God. What it got him was the boat nearly being tipped over as he watched in awe as a snarling figure arose from the deep. He stared 14, no, 20 feet in the air as his catch of the week towered above him. It's slimey skin was a lifeless, dark purple, it's eyes a doll-eye black, sitting in a head atop a slithering long neck connected to a reptilian, primitive structure.
Roy and the beast made eye contact. A fishy fin rose on it's scaly head, and the monster snarled, baring its curved, yellow teeth. From the depths of its inside came out a heart-stopping roar, one that matched with the deathly black clouds above him. And finally, without so much as a splash, it slithered back under to its wet home.
A ray of sunlight shone right over Roy and his splintering boat. He took off his hat and crumpled it slightly. "Sundays don't start much better than this!" he finally gasped out.