Sunlight was trying to poke through grey clouds and sparkling lake water reflected the boat perfectly with a few drops of rain falling here and there. Chris didn’t catch anything with his last cast so he reeled in his fishing pole, set it beside him and decided to call it a day. He turned on the boat and began speeding back down to his cottage through the increasingly choppy water; unfortunately he forgot to fill up the gas tank and the boat stopped almost as soon as it started. Without hesitation, he pulled out his sleek black phone, dialed his wife’s number and awaited her answer.
“Hi honey! How’s fishing going?” She asked sweetly.
“Hey, yeah, Mel, I ran out of gas. Can you borrow the neighbor’s boat and come tow me back?” He whined while pacing the length of the boat.
“CHRISTOPHER ALLEN MIKOLAS! This is the third time this month! NO! I’m not coming. You can figure this out yourself this time. You need to learn to do things for yourself! You’re fifty-three years old for godsake.” His wife screeched.
“Yeah, yeah. When you’re done overreacting, I’ll still be here. See you in twenty minutes.”
Before his wife had a chance to reply, Chris stumbled over his tackle box and his phone flew out of his hand and into the lake; it was safe to say, some fish now had access to Facebook. “If she didn’t argue with me then that would have never happened.” He thought after trying to grab the phone before it sunk to the lake’s muddy bottom. Chris’ muscles tensed and he was instantly irritated, but he knew his wife would show up anytime so he took a deep breath, cast his fishing line back into the lake and reflected on his day. It started with a hot cup of coffee, two eggs sunny side up and the smell of early morning air.  Chris Mikolas, an entrepreneur by profession, with soft eyes, and dimpled cheeks; one who loved to fish though seldom caught anything worth talking about.
Chris’ thoughts were suddenly interrupted by raindrops plopping onto his head, one by one at first, then all at once. The sun disappeared completely, dark grey clouds rolled in, their tears were coming down hard, and the wind was howling. At first he didn’t think it was too bad, “Fish like the rain, maybe I’ll catch something,” he thought to himself as he kept on fishing. After his line had been in the water for no longer than a minute, then all of a sudden a huge bass latched on, hook, line and sinker. A smile broke out on his face as he began reeling in the massive fish and it put up a good fight too, each time he would reel it in a little further the fish would tug just a little bit harder. Finally, he had gotten it close enough to the boat to grab it with a net, he leaned over to grab the net but then suddenly the rain made him slip and with that, his fish and his pole were gone, at the bottom of the lake. Chris’ anger surged through his body and the rain was beating down so hard that he could no longer see. Waves got stirred up and almost instantly it was more choppy it had ever been before. Out in the distance he saw a flash of lightning dance across the sky. Chris quickly tried to move to the front of the boat but he slipped and face planted onto the deck. Instantly he had a throbbing pain in his forehead, slowly, he picked himself up, sat on the deck and used his hands to rub his temples only to find that a hook from his tackle box was buried in the palm of his hand. He shuddered at the thought of it but breathed through the pain. He reached for the pliers that were laying beside him along with the rest of the contents of his tackle box. Slowly he clasped onto the hook and pulled it out of his hand as gently as possible. The flesh ripped and blood started seeping out from the wound though the pounding rain washed it away. Chris winced in pain as he put pressure on it to help stop bleeding, he cringed and his body shivered. It was a small wound but he could feel in his bones. “She better get here soon.” Chris said to himself with grinding teeth as he stood up, this time trying to stay standing. Waves kept on coming and boat was rocking back and forth, the combination of the blood oozing out of his hand and the motion of the boat made him woozy. He started gagging and tried to suppress it and he did, for a minute anyway, then all at once everything that he had eaten earlier that morning appeared all over the upholstery of his boat. He stood up once again and walked to the front of the shoddy raft through a pile of his chunky breakfast that masked the floor. It squished in between his toes and he couldn’t help but gag a little but more. Before he reached the front, he stubbed his toe with such a force that it took all he could do not to yell in pain. The waves kept crashing and Chris couldn’t stop gagging.
Eventually, after his stomach returned to his body, he sat in the driver’s a looked to see where the boat had drifted. His boat was covered with an oatmeal mixture of rain and lumpy vomit; Chris’ heart was beating out of his chest, the rampant weather was relentless. He was close enough to shore so he could swim, and that’s exactly what he did, he swam and pushed his little fishing boat to shore then tied what was left of it to a tree.
He stood up once he got to land he propped himself up with the help of a tree but as soon as he took a step, Chris tripped and slammed into pool of mud. Once he wiped the mud out of his eyes he managed to climb up to the road. Chris started walking down the lake road, he couldn’t see very well but as soon as he came across a stray Great Dane that was foaming at the mouth and barking incessantly, he knew to run. Unfortunately, the beast didn’t give up that easily and continued chasing him for a good four houses until finally, he escaped into a beat up garage. Chris felt alongside the wall until he found a lightswitch, industrial lights flicked on to his surprise. It was filled with old wicker furniture, canoes, and tools. Instantly he was greeted with his reflection in a vanity mirror. The dimpled shell of a man closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath and then glanced up at himself, and for once, he saw himself. His clothes were tattered, his head was bruised, his pride was destroyed, he had been defeated. His wife, Mel never showed up, and perhaps it was for the best; Chris let out a sigh and realized that in that moment, it didn’t matter. He stayed in the garage until he thought the rabid animal that wanted his blood was gone; he continued his trek home. After walking almost two hours south, Chris ended up back at his cottage; he tiptoed down the outdoor stairs to find his wife with her arms crossed waiting for him. She didn’t say anything, just let out a little smile. Chris, sopping wet and finally humbled just walked over to her slowly, kissed her on the cheek and then whispered, “You were right.”