Fishing trip

It's midday and the sun is high in the sky. I'm running after my dad who is walking briskly to the lake. He is carrying all our fishing gear. I dropped our poles by the truck, and he didn't trust me to carry them after that. I'm always a disappointment. I don't know why he even wanted me to go on this fishing trip. We are out in the middle of nowhere in the heat with nothing but our truck, fishing gear, and a couple blankets. What a miserable few days are ahead of us. I don’t eat fish, much less have to survive on those nasty wriggling little creatures. What does he truly expect from me? I'm not my brother, I don't do nature. I guess he at least is trying so I should stop my complaining. Maybe mom is right and I'm an ungrateful little shit. She didn't know I was listening when she said it but it's hard not to overhear their arguments in our two-bedroom apartment. I can't wait for school to start so I can escape that toxic shithole. Most kids my age dread the beginning of school, but I can't wait to go back. Anything that gets me out of hell house is a blessing in my eyes.

After a thirty-minute hike we finally reach the lake. My dad said it was a secret outcrop from his childhood. He thinks we should be able to get the best largemouth bass of the season. I personally think he is full of shit. I hope after a day or two of being hungry we will be able to leave. My dad has never been able to provide so why he thinks he can do this, is beyond me. Oh fucking well. Better get it over with.

When we arrive, dad has me set up the chairs I carried with me. He grabs the larger of the two and plops himself down without a word. The old bastard is out of breath. Serves him right.

He leans over and has me hand him the tackle box so he can bait his hook and throw his line. In this moment we actually had a cordial interaction. He doesn't yell at me, which ironically keeps me on edge instead of what would normally be expected from a father-son bonding moment. It's rare to have a good moment with him.

We sit in silence for most of the day. Closer to nightfall my dad starts to show his classic signs of anger. He starts what I call his troll grunt. He hmphs and troll grunts with each movement, getting more and more agitated as the time goes on.

When night settles in I know better than to ask to head back to the truck. Dad has been sipping his twelve pack throughout the day and his almost certain rage is something I don't want to deal with tonight. He wouldn't be able to walk the distance without breaking his neck, anyways. Maybe I should insist on it in that case now that I think about it.

I sit there listening to his snores until what seems like two in the morning. It's probably closer to ten o'clock but it feels like I've been sitting in the dark for hours. I'm cold and hungry. We haven't caught anything all day which means no dinner, even if the old man was awake and aware enough to eat.

I hear a rustling close to the water’s edge. There's something under the surface about ten feet away from where we sit. I hear a splash and my first thought of what would make that noise turned out to be true. I see the glowing eyes of the crocodile right before it struck. My dad was closer to the beast and is bit on the arm. He wakes in a start and lets loose a blood curdling scream. He tries to pull away, but he is caught in the jaws of the ancient reptile and can't break free.

I make a run for it. I hear my dad screaming as I run towards the truck. I think about going back to help him, but I'm so scared all I can think to do is run. I turn around and see his arm wrenched from his body and blood spraying the nearby foliage. I turn my head and run towards the truck as my dad screams my name. I hear a familiar rustling in the water to my left. A second crocodile attacks me and clasps its jaws around my thigh. I tumble forward. I feel the teeth dig in and tear flesh from bone. I scream. I don't know what to do. I try to run towards the path to the truck but am unable to move. I am near the edge of the lake. I feel a momentary release and yank my leg towards me, releasing myself from the jaws of the beast. I drag myself towards the water as I have nowhere else to go. The cold hits me hard and knocks the wind out of me. I clumsily swim out away from the bank. The croc doesn't follow me in the water. I see it on the shore with the lower half of my leg in its mouth. I look down and realization settles in. I know I'm bleeding profusely but there's nothing I can do right now to stop it, not while I'm in the water, maybe not even if I were on land. I hear my dad call for me. He sounds so weak. He calls again and then abruptly stops as the crocodile clasps its jaws on his throat and I know he's dead.

I am floating in the water, getting colder by the second. I know it's from loss of blood as much as it is from the actual temperature. I know my time is ending. I hear the crocodile in the distance feeding on my father. I enjoy the sound. That asshole is finally gone. I fear this thought will bring me to hell. As I slip away into an unconscious state, I realize, without a doubt, hell is exactly where I'm headed. Where else would an ungrateful little shit go in the end?