The water was clear and shiny that day. The clouds seemed to create a halo around him. The clouds around the horizon were dark and engorged.
He sat in his boat in the middle of the bay. His line sunk into the water which rippled and glimmers of light shone back and reflected under his shaded eyes - protected by his sun hat he had worn on every trip.
He heard his dog, who was laying at the bottom of the boat when he closed his eyes, move and pant.
The man was suddenly aware of his position, legs kicked up on the ledge, his chair laid back, his hat covering his eyes - sleeping position. He pushed his hat up. His dog burfed at the water and his tail wagged relaxed, his eyes chasing something below. The man smiled and removed his legs from the ledge and approached his dog, crouching to see what he saw.
What is it boy?
A small whine.
Now...it's okay, we will catch 'em.
The man grabbed the sunk line and reeled it back in. He changed the bait to his lucky bait. The dog, while this happened, watched attentively at the actions of the man.
The man stuck his tongue out the corner of his grin. The reel wound back up. He slung the rod over her shoulder and the dog's head followed.
The bait landed in the water with a plop. The dog barked.
Bullseye.
They sat in silence for awhile, until there was a tug at the line. It pulled away.
Come on, you.
The dog yelped.
The man fought the line in as the clouds moved within the sunny halo and made things unnoticeably dark.
The sound of the reel cranking echoed the give and take battle - couple clicks in and a fight out. The rod was taught and the dog lifted its front paws, alternating them in happiness.
The line broke.
Shit!
The dog started whimpering again.
It's okay ole pal, we will just try again.
He looked over and his dog was looking up to the sky, which came blindingly white and gray, multiple different light sources seemed closer.
No, no, no.
He relined his rod and his dog barked and agreed.
That's right, it'll be alright.
As he relined, he noticed his hand turning wrinkled, and brown spots and his arms came back. His hand started to shake and as the relining became harder to accomplish. His dog cried. The trees had disappeared and turned to white. He grabbed the rod and tried to stand to throw the line and felt his legs become weak.
Fine, I’ll throw the line from here.
His dog laid his head on the man's lap. He pet the dog, his hand shook.
He threw the line in - not far - and waited.
An echoed voice came from behind him as the color of the world started evaporating, dripping like a watercolor painting. There was a nibble at his line and it took the rod out of his hands as he watched the world melt. He reached for it and ended up facing the dark water that reflected his old face.
Mr. Williams?
His boat sank and turned into a wheelchair. The forest turned to white bricks, and the water to gray tiles. His colorful world was gone.
Mr. Williams? A cheerful voice called again, as if talking to a puppy, Are you in your happy place again? It’s time to take your pills again.
The therapy dog laid his head back down on his lap and he made a huff. The man, still with his hands stacked like he was holding a rod, looked at them, opened his hand palms up and laid them on the dogs head.
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