THE BOAT has learned to rock with its steady rhythm. But, there were times when the blue abyss would dance violently. The waves would rise, crashing then fusing with each other. Then a whiplash of light would appear, followed by the sound of cannons, and the cries of the fisherman’s child.
Those days, his daughter would be in his arms, clinging onto him as she shook and wept. But today, the sun is shining and the clouds are devoid of grey. There will be fish in his net, money in his pocket, and food on the table.
Yet, the fisherman did not move an inch, fixating on the view before him. Though his hands, like the boat, are shaking and still clutching onto his net. He then closes his eyes to focus, but all he can hear is the thunderous static of the chaos in his home, of stolen waters, and crooks in the night. The sounds melt into a piercing cry of a child.
He feels the waves becoming hostile. The cold wind starts prickling his skin, and his heartbeat starts syncing with the waves. He attempts to drown out the noise in his mind as he tightens his grip on the net. Fishes, the fisherman thinks. What use are they? What use am I?
Then, a sound. The response comes as a splash, as if a fish coming out of the water. He opens his eyes to a ripple in the sea. He drifts closer to it as he stares at his own reflection, realizing his aged and tired eyes. The blue pit draws him in further, yet he pulls himself back.
The fisherman stares at the rest of the sea. It is endless and terrifying, yet free. His gaze returns to his reflection, now distorted by the wrinkles in the water as sunlight illuminates his likeness. He listens to the water crackling and splashing about as it flows through the currents.
And then finally, he hears silence. He hears peace. He looks back at the shore and wonders if he will hear the same tune over there soon.
The fisherman throws his net into the abyss. His reflection dissolves, becoming one with the sea. F
