Elliot Andreopoulos

E l l i o t  A n d r e o p o u l o s

Prospecting

I went with my father and brother to the beach.  It was rocky.  We didn’t have aqua shoes and the walk to shore was painful.  We didn’t complain.  We used worms dug from our garden as bait.  They squirmed when we impaled them on the sharp metal. 

We cast our lines into the sea.  I felt a tug and reeled in my catch.  I wanted to make my father proud, but it was just seaweed.  My bait was gone and I baited my hook again. Blood from the worm dripped on my hand. I smiled at my brother and father.  They smiled back.  The sun was strong and made us sweat through our tee shirts.

My father and brother were in conversation. I wasn’t included and felt alone.  I wanted lunch even though it was early. I reeled in my pole and nodded to my father in the direction of the store. He nodded approval for me to leave.  I walked, looking at the ground for something valuable. There was nothing.   

I reached the road.  There was a dead man lying in the middle.  He was run over.  His clothes were thrown off. I was alone with him. His legs were twisted in opposite directions, blood was all over. Flies and insects buzzed. His face seemed content, happy even. He could have had a family.  He could have lived alone.  He could have been my friend.  None of that mattered.  I dragged him off the road and left him to be discovered again.

I walked back to my father and brother.  I hugged them.  Neither had caught a fish.    

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