Gone Fishing
A perfect morning for fishing. The cattails sway in the gentle breeze. I follow the well-worn path toward the water. But then, my lungs fill with sweetness, a perfume of roses and overly ripe fruit… Larry’s been missing since last week.
I pull the collar of my T-shirt over my nose and mouth and, heart pounding, emerge from the tall grass into swarming flies on the sandy bank. There, half-submerged, its fingers clawing at the shore, is a bloated rotting corpse.
Larry?
Prodding it with my fishing pole, its skin splits, and maggots spill into the river.
A trout jumps.
The River’s Secret
The medical examiner covers the corpse with a white sheet and glances at the chart.
“What’s strange,” she says, chewing the end of her pen, “is he died from decompression.”
“Decompression?” the detective asks, frowning.
“It happens when a diver surfaces too fast, and nitrogen bubbles form in their bloodstream.”
“That’s not possible. He was found in the river. The water’s not deep enough.”
“Look at this.” She lifts the sheet to reveal a jagged stump where the man’s leg should have been.
“What the hell?”
“It was torn off before they surfaced.”
The color drains from the detective’s face.
Summer’s End
James’s pick-up truck bounces down the country road. He glances at Annie. Her hair is pulled up, and the strap of her tank-top hangs to the side, revealing a white line on her otherwise sunbaked red skin. A bead of sweat clings to her upper lip.
“Let’s go for a swim,” Annie says.
James can’t believe he didn’t think of it. Nothing sounds better than a plunge in the ice-cold river. He knows the perfect spot, so deep you can’t touch the bottom.
They pull over and, laughing, she tugs him toward the trail.
Cattails sway in the gentle breeze.
