Bitter Dreams
© 2021 RE Jauregui
Chapter 1 ~ Early Sunday Morning
Wisps of vapor rose in slender, twisting columns from water's surface. A tattered yellow leaf fluttered from the tree overhanging the rocky sides of the levee, piercing the mist before dropping into the deceptively still river. Ripples spread from the point of impact, so gentle, yet affecting the tranquility of the river at dawn.
A splash. Another splash. The splashes grew louder in a steady rhythm. A new set of waves met the expanding ripples as the rowboat appeared from the other side of the I Street Bridge. The slender man in the boat aimed for the eddy just off the Broderick side of the river.
The sky brightened from pink to blue as the mist thinned. He pulled the oars into the boat and settled in with his fishing pole. His gentle cast barely rocked the dinghy as the baited hook and red and white bobber flashed over the water, then drifted slowly with the current downstream. Just before it floated out of sight, he reeled it back in, pausing occasionally, then giving the line a little jerk before he turned the reel handle.
Before he cast the line again, he set the rod down, with the bait dangling just above the water. He rubbed his arms briskly, his fingers scrubbing over the goosebumps that covered his arms. After he slipped into a windbreaker, he shaded his narrow, hooded eyes with one hand and looked up at the brightening sky. Feathery clouds drifted overhead, edged with pink and gold. He shivered and pulled a camo bucket cap over his straight, jet black hair.
A soft splash caught his attention. He caught up his rod, checked the bait, then flicked the bobber and hook upstream. The bobber drifted along, past the rowboat. He gave it a little jerk as it passed through the rapidly fading ripples. It dipped with the tug on the line, then sprang back to the water's surface.
He frowned and gave the line another twitch. With all his attention focused on the bobber, the sudden thump against the boat caught him unaware. A second bump pushed the dinghy sideways and his phone flew off the seat and into the swirling water. He dropped the fishing pole and clutched the gunwales, cursing, as a third blow tipped the boat. It teetered for a moment, suspended above the water, then crashed back into the dark water, upside down.
© 2021 RE Jauregui
Chapter 1 ~ Early Sunday Morning
Wisps of vapor rose in slender, twisting columns from water's surface. A tattered yellow leaf fluttered from the tree overhanging the rocky sides of the levee, piercing the mist before dropping into the deceptively still river. Ripples spread from the point of impact, so gentle, yet affecting the tranquility of the river at dawn.
A splash. Another splash. The splashes grew louder in a steady rhythm. A new set of waves met the expanding ripples as the rowboat appeared from the other side of the I Street Bridge. The slender man in the boat aimed for the eddy just off the Broderick side of the river.
The sky brightened from pink to blue as the mist thinned. He pulled the oars into the boat and settled in with his fishing pole. His gentle cast barely rocked the dinghy as the baited hook and red and white bobber flashed over the water, then drifted slowly with the current downstream. Just before it floated out of sight, he reeled it back in, pausing occasionally, then giving the line a little jerk before he turned the reel handle.
Before he cast the line again, he set the rod down, with the bait dangling just above the water. He rubbed his arms briskly, his fingers scrubbing over the goosebumps that covered his arms. After he slipped into a windbreaker, he shaded his narrow, hooded eyes with one hand and looked up at the brightening sky. Feathery clouds drifted overhead, edged with pink and gold. He shivered and pulled a camo bucket cap over his straight, jet black hair.
A soft splash caught his attention. He caught up his rod, checked the bait, then flicked the bobber and hook upstream. The bobber drifted along, past the rowboat. He gave it a little jerk as it passed through the rapidly fading ripples. It dipped with the tug on the line, then sprang back to the water's surface.
He frowned and gave the line another twitch. With all his attention focused on the bobber, the sudden thump against the boat caught him unaware. A second bump pushed the dinghy sideways and his phone flew off the seat and into the swirling water. He dropped the fishing pole and clutched the gunwales, cursing, as a third blow tipped the boat. It teetered for a moment, suspended above the water, then crashed back into the dark water, upside down.
