THE CATCH 
by Chris Wills 

Charlie felt the weight of the past work week ease from tense muscles in his back and neck. He pulled onto the access ramp to the interstate and headed west toward the Rocky Mountains in the distance. The weekend was waiting for him, and the cold beer packed away in the cooler in the back tugged at his taste buds. He goosed the accelerator in his anxious anticipation of catching a trout or two before nightfall. To enjoy the one sport that gave him escape from life. 
The hour drive to his normal campsite ended as he pulled to a stop. He climbed out of the vehicle and took in a deep breath of the fresh mountain air. Then he rushed to the back and began unpacking his camp gear and fly rod. He didn't want to stumble around in the dark setting up camp, so he let the fly rod rest against the vehicle as he began the task of setting up the tent and campfire. He was anxious to get his line in the water. 
Charlie looked at his watch as he stood, sipping a cold beer and admiring his job. 
"Got just enough time to catch a couple of trout before nightfall," he muttered aloud. 
Charlie grabbed for his pole and headed to the creek bank. He looked up and down the creek to see where the fish might be hiding. He decided on trying his luck right where he stood. He set the can of beer down and began the pleasant task of bringing the fly at the end of his line into action. Within minutes a large golden trout shot from the water and clamped down on the fly. Charlie gave a quick jerk and set the hook. The fight was on as the trout sought out shelter in the rocks under the water, and Charlie played the struggle for all it was worth before bringing it in. 
"What a catch!" Charlie whooped as he pulled the hook from the trout's mouth. "You are going to taste good for dinner." 
Just then, Charlie looked down at his pants leg to see an odd-looking bug climbing up his leg. He pulled the hat off his head and swatted the ugly thing from his pants leg. It shot through the air and landed in the brush in the distance. 
"Ugly-looking critter," he muttered as he bent to clean the fish. 
Charlie leaned back against the rock and let the finished plate slide from his lap. He sipped on a fresh beer as he watched the sun creep overhead, nearing a peak that would soon hide its light for the day. Just then he noticed the damned odd-looking bug perched on the toe of his boot, looking at him as if it had not a fear or care in the world. He flicked his foot to see it fly through the air and into the brush once again. 
"Pesky damned thing," he said, taking another sip of beer. 
Charlie lay there, sipped beer, and watched as the world around him changed from light to dark. He watched as the first hint of stars appeared. His grip on the can of beer relaxed as mind and body succumbed to the rigors of the past week. 
Charlie woke to an irritating buzzing sound. Opening his eyes, he once again saw the damned bug. It perched on his chest, staring at him as if agitated by the way he had treated it the last two times. 
"You are one persistent ugly son-of-a-bitch," Charlie said, reaching his one hand over and grabbing it. 
Just then the bug spread sharp grappling type hooks out of nowhere. It held Charlie's hand in a firm grip. Wings sprouted and a beam of light appeared from the morning sky. Charlie's arm jerked up, as if being pulled by a taught, invisible line. He and the damned bug were yanked from the surface and shot into the sky. Charlie looked up as he screamed in terror. He was being pulled from earth. Pulled to an odd-looking craft hovering high in the clouds. A large creature stood at a doorway with some kind of pole in his hands. A grin formed on its face. The kind of grin held only by an angler in the midst of a good catch. 

Story copyright © 2000 Chris Wills