I was using Pro-Cure’s Bloody Tuna Bait Oil on the day of my personal encounter with the beast. There had been little luck with my typical harvested tadpoles from the pond in front of my estate, and decided to go with something a little more bloodier for the local trout. I knew the season had been bad, but never to the point were I had to stoop to buying the store stuff. I suppose in retrospect, I should have listened to my gut whining that something had been outcompeting me for the fish. I remember the day clearly, sitting on my regular oblong-shaped boulder shaded in the groves. It’s important to have your regular spot in the shade in order to attract the fish on a hot day. I suppose it thought the same, wishing to remain licking its leather lips in the shadows. My last feeling before life changed as I know it was the seething frustration at having my clock once again cleaned by Old Nigel.
Old Nigel was the prize of my old West Texas town back in the day. The trout to end all trouts; rainbow flesh and a mind akin to a seasoned-whip. I spent many-a-day trying to outwit the old bastard. Every cast was avoided, every net chewed through, every hook cleaned to the extent of a hungry man’s KFC chicken wing. Anyway. After my routine curses aimed at the town’s infamous sea-weasel, I grabbed another precious can of flesh oil. It took only a second, really, for my eager smooth hands to go from peeling back the sharp canister of bloodied sea-chicken to grasping the old familiar cold boulder for life. The flash of fangs, the gravelly shriek, the slurp associated with the hot pain around my ankle… Thats all I remember, really. I came to with a star-shaped jagged scar and a deep fear nettled to my bones.
Old Nigel was strewn about the field. Well, what was left of him. Curiously noticing Nigel was deprived of blood and not flesh, I dizzily stumbled back towards town. That was the last day I spent in West Texas without a striking resolve to catch the true one that got away.
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