Plop.
The hook strikes the water, quickly followed by the float and bobs in the ripples of the water. It settles, moving with the calm swell of the waves as they flow towards the white sand of the beach. Gently, it tugs on the long fishing line causing the long fishing pole to flex. The base of the slow taper rod is buried deeply into the sand.
A sea mist gently blows across the beach, obscuring the light from the bright super moon. Bright enough to see, but obscured details from both the mist and light level. It’s reflection on the water fails to cast the shadow of the fisherpony.
His once vibrant ginger coat and beard now faded with age. Satisfied that he cast the line correctly, he sits back down on his stool and waits. Relaxing in the moonlight, the silent shuffle a few meters back far from his thoughts. Focused on watching the float, yet allowing his mind to wonder. The highs, the lows, love, family, various hopes. All filter through his mind. A content smile crosses his face at the memoires. The waves lapping just a little further down the beach, narrowly avoiding the open box he had placed there.
Along the dunes, within the mist barely out of sight, shadows slowly filter pass. All heading in the same direction in a rippled motion. Silently they pass, ignorant of the others around them. Gently filtering by. All heading to a single wooden pier jutting out into the sea.
The hours pass, and through the gloom of the mist a shape appears. Sound of paddles splashing into the water breaks the serenity. Soon enough, the ripples from the rowing start to disturb the float. With a disgruntle grunt, the stallion breaks his reminiscing and reaches up. With decades of experience and using the reel, he slowly draws the line back in.
As the shadow of the small boat passes by, the fisherpony glares silently grumbling. The hooded occupant hears but carries on regardless. Slowly but with certainty of eternity, every stroke perfected by the infinite trips taken, they guide the boat to the pier. With a gentle thunk, the shrouded boat contacts the aged wood. A single shadow boards the boat, and it pushes off traveling the same route back into the mist. The shadow forms shuffle forward to fill the space no longer occupied. Rippling through the unknowingly long line.
Having finally fully reeled the fishing line in, the fisherpony picks up the rod and slowly swishes it back and fore. Waiting for the boat to fully depart. Soon enough, the boat is gone. Content, with a flick of his wrist, the line is sent flying back into the waves. Once again, casing out to catch what fish lurks in the deep.
The crunch of sand behind him, is different. Turning in curiosity, the fisherpony looks towards the sound. Through the mist a shadow approaches, drawing closer and closer. Breaking through the mist, the shadow comes into focus. A grey cloaked figure stands, hood pulled over their head obscuring the creature’s face.
With a gentle wave of a limb, the hooded figure gestures towards the pier. Their head inclines, an unspoken question. Shaking their head, the fisherpony turns and resumes focusing on his fishing ignoring the figure. The hooded figure remains stationary, biding their time.
Shuffling, he can’t return to his earlier relaxed state. The figure disturbing the mood, regardless of how still or silent they are. None the less, the stallion tries to focus on the float and ignoring the hooded one. Waiting for that elusive moment. More hours pass, with no bite nor the hooded figure moving.
The shrouded boat returns, rowing past, forcing the stallion to repeat creating the cycle anew. Once again, he reels the line in and upon the boat departure cast it back out into the waters. The cycle repeats over and over. No true rest can be found for the stallion find with the figure still looming behind. Innumerable cycles pass, just like the shuffling shadows in the mist on the dunes passing behind.
Yet, the stallion’s patience finally pays off. The float dips under the waves and the rod bends under the force. Frantically getting to his hooves off the stool, he grips the rod and starts to gently reel the catch in.
Beats of sweat cross his brow from the effort, trying to ensure his catch doesn’t get away. Slowly but surely reeling it in, he spots the fish breaking the water. It’s frantic movements in a vain attempt to escape, splash water causing vast ripples from its effort. Yet for all of this movement and noise shattering the pale coastline, the shadows in the mist carry on undisturbed.
Finally, he draws the fish into the shallows. Closer, closer, nearly caught yet also at the most likely time for the fish to escape. The fisherpony using their experience manages to lift the fish, their rod bending all the way to the handle with it’s weight. Splash, the fish is placed into the open box at the water line.
With a little skip, the stallion joyfully strides over. Looking down into the box, he sees the still struggling fish. A seabass. With a deft slight of hoof, he frees the struggling fish from the hook. He doesn’t know how much time he had spent trying, but the effort paid off. He reaches into the box and submerges his hoof into the water to gently stroke the fish his long-awaited prize and-
IT IS TIME
The elation of the catch quickly drains from him. Hoof still pressing against the caught fish. Heaving a deep sigh, he looks toward the cloaked figure. They hadn’t moved since he had previously looked, neither had they changed their pose pointing towards the pier.
Giving a nod, the stallion tips the container over. Causing the fish to be flung into the shallows where it frantically slashes before it manages to return to the depths from whence it came. Methodically and slowly, he packs away his fishing gear into a bag that wasn’t there before.
The supermoon shines high over the pair, as the stallion approaches the figure. White sand undisturbed for eons crunch under his hooves. As he draws closer, the figure continues to loom over him. Just as large as he, yet also so much bigger. Soon as the fisherpony draws alongside them, the figure starts to walk towards the flowing shadows amongst the dunes. Beckoning for the stallion to follow.
Without protest, the faded ginger trudges behind. Upon drawing closer to the flowing shadows, their forms take shape. Creatures of all shapes, sizes and ages become visible. Yet they ignore the pair, as if they were in their own little world. They walk swiftly past the shuffling creatures. Walking besides the sandy path, heading to the same destination: the pier.
The walk does not take long, and soon enough the fisherpony is brought to the end of the pier. Waiting for the arrival of the same small wooden row boat that had so often disturbed his fishing. The pair do not have to wait for long, as the boat rows towards them through the mist.
Taking a deep breath, and a reassuring stroke of his own beard he turns to the figure, opening his mouth.
“How-“
PEACEFULLY IN YOUR SLEEP
SUROUNDED BY YOUR DAUGHERS, YOUR WIFE, AND SOME FRIENDS
YOU WERE AND ARE LOVED
THOSE WHO COULD NOT BE YOUR SIDE, LONGED TO BE THERE
Closing his eyes, tears start to flow, dampening his cheeks and muzzle. Only to open them upon the gentle thunk of the boat reaching the pier. With a sad smile, he stepped onto the boat, and was taken into the mist.
Author's Note
In memorandum.
Hope their are fine fish to catch in the great beyond Grampy.
Rest well.
