Gone Fishin' (Solo)

Dread wrote:John sat up and stopped mourning his terrible life the instant he sensed a presence nearby. He knew at once it belonged not to “Coach” whose malevolent spirit could easily crush John’s with its sheer force. The presence still proved significant; John surmised it belonged to someone because “Coach” already explained to him animals lacked the capacity for conscious decision required to tap into their ki.

He turned his head toward where his newfound sense indicated where the powerful presence originated. A figure shrouded by the shade of a thick gathering of trees appeared several yards away from John. It bent down, depositing a bundle onto the forest floor before it. Whoever it was stood up and seemed to stare at John for a moment. “Your master sends his regards.” As soon as the masculine and all too familiar voice reached John’s ears, he identified the man as one of “Coach’s” assistants.

He stood up and ran toward the figure, but the as of yet unidentified individual reversed back into the depths of the forest. John stopped less than a pace away from the bundle, but the man had vanished from sight. He closed his eyes and tried sensing out his elusive target, but he only registered the feeble life forces of the forest’s natural inhabitants. “He’s gone; he’s fast,” John realized aloud.

He looked down at the bundle and discovered, to his confused delight, a fresh set of clothes almost identical to the old set. He had, after all, nearly drowned in a subterranean river without knowing how he had exactly survived that horrible experience. He had discarded his clothes shortly after awakening from his near-drowning to avoid freezing to death in his soaked rags. He had kept only his boots so that he could proceed without cutting his feet on the rough terrain of the cave.

John removed his boots long enough to dress in the jeans, sleeveless shirt, and leather jacket provided for him. He even replaced his old socks in favor of the fresh pair provided before donning and retying his boots. That’s one problem out of the way. John thought to himself. But Coach said I’m going to be out here for six days and if I’m going to survive, I need food. John did not simply feel hungry, he was absolutely famished. “Coach” had informed him he had spent two nights (without food) in the cave and John felt no reason to doubt him.

He wandered the forest, deciding to use his sixth sense to track and hunt some critter to eat; hunting was something he had never done before in his life. He never had reason to because he spent his years growing up taking for himself what others had earned for themselves. He did not like to believe in karma, but he did believe in consequences and consequences hurt! All the older children at the orphanage in which he grew up took most of what he stole and only after beating him half to death on an annual basis. He also took from households whose inhabitants suffered as much as he did every day and had seen far more days than he had. The adults he stole from had reason enough for pounding him into a broken and bloody pulp whenever they caught him taking from them.

Dread wrote:John’s searching brought him near a rabbit hole and, some paces away, he saw a rabbit gnawing on a piece of grass. I guess you’ll do. John thought; his hunger made it impossible for him to consider the mess involved that came with skinning such prey before cooking it. He lacked a knife and would have to devise some other method of peeling off its furry coat and another method for cooking it, but those problems failed to cross his literally starved brain. He dashed toward the creature that, in turn, panicked and bolted in the opposite direction of its sanctuary.

John took to the air to avoid stumbling about and flew after his prey. He locked his eyes on the fear-filled creature and lowered his hands toward it as he easily closed the gap between them. His fingers passed through its coat when it suddenly turned and changed direction, slipping from his grasp. John crashed into an enormously thick tree an instant later and dropped onto the ground. The collision cracked and shattered a good amount of bark from the tree, but it appeared relatively undamaged from its encounter with a flying human.

John cursed loudly and rubbed his sore and bleeding forehead. He recovered little by little as he turned his attention toward the fleeing rabbit. It had backtracked toward its den and vanished. John considered resuming the chase; the little rodent certainly deserved it after leading him headlong into a tree, but he now knew, despite his hunger and newfound powers, he lacked the coordination needed to catch such nimble prey with his bare hands. He certainly wanted to avoid a repeat performance with a tree or other such solid obstacle.

He then heard the sound of the passing of a nearby river and realized, with a start, his throat was parched. He walked toward the sound and stopped just at the river’s edge. He bent down and took several gulps of fresh water; the cold liquid refreshed him and helped clear his head. Just as he finished sating his thirst, he noticed something large and dark just outside the corners of his vision.

He lifted his gaze toward the dark shape, which turned out to be a black bear standing just at the edge of the river. John suddenly entertained the thought of fighting the beast to the death for its meat; something his old and powerless self would have never considered, knowing such an exercise would result in a grievous injury or worse. The bear eyed him for a moment then turned its attention back to the water, entirely unconcerned with him.

He observed it and it, in turn, carefully watched the river. John almost turned away to find something to eat, but the bear caught him by surprise when it plunged a powerful paw into the water, raking it just inches below the river’s surface. In the time it’d take John to blink, the amazing beast batted what looked like a fat salmon out from the water and onto the bank where the fish flopped helplessly. John stared, mouth agape with wonder. The bear looked back at him and its blank expression gave John the impression that it was trying to say. “What? You can’t do this? Really? It’s easy.”

Dread wrote:John immediately stripped naked, confident that he could at least catch himself a few fish. He focused his sixth sense on the bear and it hardly registered any amount of power. “If you can do it then I sure as hell can,” John told the animal, but it had already taken its catch and walked away. “Running away, are you? Afraid I’ll beat you at your own game?” John taunted, but he was not sure why he had said the words; he was feeling incredibly bitter as of late, but he blamed that on “Coach” and his twisted idea of training.

He proceeded into the river with some measure of confidence. He paused when the water reached up to his ankles; he allowed his body to begin adjusting to the temperature. He proceeded until he stood waist-deep in the river. The bear had snagged a fish from the shallows; its example left John knowing he needed not tread further for his meal. He looked down and grinned down at his own transparent reflection. The pure clarity of the river, he surmised, would make fishing easy for him.

He watched the river carefully for any passing fish and was spared a long wait when a particularly large specimen rushed toward him. He stepped toward it and quickly sunk his right arm shoulder-deep into the water. He closed his fingers, but he grasped nothing and his target sped past him to safety. He brought his hand toward his face and examined it. “What am I doing wrong?” He asked of himself. “Oh, who am I kidding? How could I possibly ever think this was possible to begin with?” He continued; Catching fish with my bare hands? Ridiculous!

John returned to the shore, and sat down, allowing the late afternoon sun to warm and dry him. His hunger grew and sitting around, doing nothing made him restless. He paced the edge of the riverbank and caught glimpses of fish jumping in and out of the water as though taunting him. His hunger gave way to his rage and he charged, with renewed determination, into the river. He observed many fish dispersing as a result of his disturbing presence as his enraged progress created enormous splashes, waves, and ripples.

He aimlessly slammed his hands down into the river and repeatedly grabbed at nothing. He grunted and snorted as though having become a wild beast and no longer cared if he caught anything so long as the world felt his wrath. He exhausted himself after a time and his arms slowed, aching from the exertion of attacking his elusive enemies. He eventually stopped jabbing at the river and dived into its depths to cool off and relax his burning body. As the last of the ripples he had generated reached the river’s edges, fish began resuming their normal course around John.

Some fish swam almost close enough to him for him to reach out and touch, but he had given up on snatching them. The task seemed entirely hopeless and futile; he had no idea how the bear managed it and it wasn’t as though he could stop by its cave for a visit to ask. Bubbles exploded from John’s mouth as he suddenly laughed at the thought of having a conversation with a bear. Maybe it will have a guest room for me to spend the night. The notion made him release more underwater laughter until he needed to surface for air.

Dread wrote:He waded to the side of the river and allowed the setting sun to dry him. His body ached all over from being overworked. Exhaustion hit him with a vengeance as he left the water; he had not slept properly in days. His body shook, especially his hands because he had eaten nothing since leaving the temple for “Coach’s” outdoor lessons. He figured he had enough energy left to find something to eat in the forest then find a soft patch of earth to use as a bed and so he quickly dressed and went on his way.

He trudged on, away from the river and scanned the ground, bushes, and trees for anything that looked like food. He glimpsed a deer during his hike and half a dozen rabbits, some of which stopped some paces ahead of him as though mocking his earlier attempt to hunt one of their kind. John started collecting pebbles, which he tossed at the offending creatures. They all deftly avoided his half-hearted attacks, but one of the pebbles John launched slammed into a tree and stuck.

He walked toward the old oak and examined the point of entry. The pebble had gone in too far for John to see. Even though it had not come out the other side, John felt amazed by the power his starved and weary body still possessed. The impact gave him an idea; instead of collecting nuts, berries, and various roots, which may or may not have ended up poisoning him, John started stuffing his pockets with rocks.

He soon stopped and sat down in the dirt, tired of travelling; making any sort of movement taxed him and he needed what little strength and energy he had left. He waited for what seemed like hours for something to show up. He fantasized that a rabbit would hop about in front of him like the rest of its pesky friends. No such thing happened, however. The sun disappeared in the horizon and cast the forest in the darkness of night.

The stars and moon above shone in the sky, but their light hardly illuminated anything of John’s surroundings. He was human, a creature of light and daytime; his eyes could not penetrate such darkness. He swore silently to himself before lying down onto his side and drifting off to sleep. Just as he nearly traded his horrible waking world for the land of dreams, the howl of a wolf dragged him back to wakefulness. Other wolves soon howled in response to the initial cry and they all soon began tormenting John with their obnoxious song.

He knew too little about nature and its wild denizens to realize that while he chose to sleep, many creatures of the forest, a wolf pack included, chose to hunt. Their cries summoned their comrades together and for one purpose. The alpha issued orders to his subordinates and assigned them all the tasks necessary to ensure the pack would eat well that night. John understood none of these things; he knew only that their collective voices annoyed him and deprived him of rest.

Dread wrote:John never recalled falling asleep that night and neither did he remember any of the dreams he experienced during his slumber. He knew he had slept because when he woke and opened his eyes, the sun shone brightly above him. He sat up and massaged his temples, which felt hot to the touch. His head ached tremendously, more so than his belly even though it grumbled violently in its demand for sustenance. He stood and decidedly headed down toward the river to cool his head.

He undressed as soon as he reached the riverside and unceremoniously dived into the chilling water. He immediately convulsed upon entry, but he remained in the water and forced his body to relax as best he could. He drank from the river soon after and then splashed his head many times over, but it hardly soothed his pain. He knew he was experiencing no ordinary headache and not simply because of the extraordinary amount of agony it inflicted upon him. His was a headache brought on by severe hunger and he needed food, fast.

A passing school of fish just below the river’s surface caught John’s eye and reminded him of the reason behind his previous visit. He also recalled, rather quickly, the impossibility of catching fish with his bare hands as often as he had made the attempt. Either out of desperation or renewed vigor, John shrugged his shoulders and decided to spend his morning trying to catch at least one fish. He had nothing to lose and, if nothing else, he could always return to dry land and try his hand at killing fuzzy woodland creatures by tossing stones through their skulls; something he had never attempted before in his life.

He thought back on what he may have done wrong earlier, but thinking only pained him; he literally needed food for thought. Maybe I was in too much of a hurry. He guessed. He paused and relaxed as best he could; he inhaled deeply through his nose and exhaled slowly with his mouth. He continued breathing in such a manner as though meditating and focused on the flowing river around him and the passing fish.

An old sight greeted him on the other side of the river as John continued his breathing exercise. A black bear walked to the shallows and gazed at him as though in greeting; it may or may not have been the same bear from before, but John assumed it was for the simple comfort of familiarity. It bent its head toward the water and waited; John waited with it and watched the animal carefully. He decided that if the bear was there to fish then he would commit its technique to memory and execute it for his own success.

He almost blinked and would have missed what happened next had he closed his eyes even for a fraction of an instant. The bear swiped one of its massive paws through the river and batted a fat salmon out of the water and onto somewhat dry land where it landed with an audible smack and flopped helplessly. The bear turned away from John and collected its catch with its mouth before disappearing into the forest. It’s just like before and I still don’t even know how he did it. John thought, and assumed the bear was a male.

Dread wrote:He stared down into the water and reexamined it for any hidden clues it simply refused to give him. He focused his attention entirely on it and the fish that swam within his field of vision. He pretended to shoot lasers out from his eyes at the mindless animals that refused to give him their meat. No beams shot out from his eyes that day, however; he did not realize it at the time, but he probably could have learned and used such a power had he properly collected and focused his ki. Rather than destroying the river and everything within it, John simply tried conveying his pain and frustration at nature with a twisted grimace.

As he continued staring, the water seemed to slow along with an approaching fish within it. The world appeared to have stopped moving so quickly and the fish, the current object of John’s attention, no longer appeared to him as an elusive target as its brethren before it. He was so mesmerized by what he was witnessing that he lost his focus; it was then that everything around him accelerated to normal speed. The fish sped past him and a few more soon followed suit. John aimlessly splashed clenched fists repeatedly into the river to vent his anger.

He stopped striking out against nature and breathed calmly as he had done before to regain his focus and to relax. He concentrated on the river before him again and watched carefully for anything that approached him. The current slowed as it had done before and, as it did, John perceived an exceptionally sluggish salmon heading straight toward him. He contained his excitement and waited for the precise moment to strike.

He measured the distance between himself and his quarry. He stretched both of his arms out before him and spread his feet apart and noted how much area he covered. The image of a circle suddenly materialized in his head and the circle surrounded him, extending as far out as his outstretched hands. He swung his arms out to both sides of him and the imaginary circle round out to perfection instantly without him ever tearing his eyes away from his prey.

He aimed his right hand toward the water and raised his arm slightly so that his elbow pointed above him at an angle as though he was preparing to spear his target. The fish broke through the circle John had imagined and he immediately brought his hand down toward it, tracking its progress and adjusting his aim accordingly in mid-strike. His fingers closed around the body of the fish; he felt his victory was assured until the fish slipped through his hand and made it safely outside his circle.

John smiled and danced joyously in the river despite his latest failure. I almost had it! I almost had it that time! He thought, “It all makes sense now. I’ve become really fast and strong, but I didn’t understand, didn’t believe.” He spoke aloud. Now I do understand and I do believe and I’ve finally let my senses catch up with the rest of my progress. “I know what to do! I can do this! I feel great! I feel amazing! I can win! Yes! Yes! Yes!” Feeling empowered by his own words, John looked at the river again, but with a smile that time.

Dread wrote:John hardly needed to focus on his following attempts at snagging a fish. The circle he imagined seemed to dim until it became almost invisible then vanished entirely. He no longer needed to visualize such an aid; he had quickly familiarized himself with his own body’s range. He would need practice exercising complete control over such an area, but the task at hand appeared too simple to him for the need of further training. More fish swam past him, but John bothered with none of them because none of those had intruded upon the territory of his physical influence.

He waited until fortune smiled down on him and sent not one or two, but three fish straight into his territory. He watched them move through the water as though the river had become as thick as molasses. Time itself proceeded normally; he had done nothing to change the rate of its passing but, as John already remarked to himself, he had become faster and now perceived things differently. He had needed eyes to keep up with his body’s full potential and he now possessed such eyes. Those same eyes of his also observed the limited velocity of the planet’s less gifted inhabitants.

He struck the water thrice, but made no attempt at grabbing any of the three fish. The bear had actually taught him something important about fishing with his hands. He raked his right hand through the water three times in a flash. He swatted all three fish onto the shore, but he made no motion to retrieve them; it had happened all too quickly and easily for him that he wanted to do it again. He no longer fished to eat; he began doing it for fun.

He stopped an hour later and examined the pile of fish he had created with his frequent successes. The topmost victims in the pile wriggled with failing life, but all the others had long since stopped moving. John left the river to collect what he could and realized he could neither take them all nor eat them all. As soon as he neared them, he pinched his nose and gagged at the stench. The earlier of his catches had already begun to rot in the sun.

He dressed then took the six freshest looking specimens in the bunch and carried three in each hand by their tails. He left the others to the insects and other such carrion eaters native to the forest. He later happened upon a nice spot littered with dry sticks and fallen branches and placed his catch aside long enough to make a fire with the materials naturally provided. He dug a shallow ring with his heel then tossed a random assortment of sticks into it. He collected some grass and tossed the blades on for good measure.

He grabbed a pair of sticks and rubbed them quickly over the bundle, but they snapped almost instantly. He tried again with a pair of sturdier sticks and made an effort to control his strength. Smoke soon rose off them, but John suppressed his joy and continued carefully. The kindling caught despite not having been completely dried first and John soon had a small fire going. “Good thing that worked,” John said to himself. “I’ve never done any of this before.” He supposed he had his speed and newfound precision to thank for such a small accomplishment.

He selected six other sticks and methodically sharpened each of them with one of the larger rocks he had kept in his pockets. He also fed the fire regularly whether or not it needed it as new as he was to such things. He skewered each of his fish and cooked them in pairs. He ate well that afternoon then enjoyed the fire he had created with his own hands. John never once considered the possibility that his fire may attract something far more sinister than any forest-dwelling beast. He had taken care of all his immediate needs and lazily reveled in satisfaction, failing to register the fact that smoke attracted attention. The smoke from his creation was attracting the wrong sort of attention.