Gemotions

The fishing line went taut, a satisfying tug in his hand. Liam leaned back, the late afternoon sun on his face, a slight smile playing on his lips. The lake water rippled around the boat, reflecting the sky. He’d caught a few good ones already, enough to grill for dinner. He imagined the taste of the fish, seasoned just so, the cool beer in his hand. He planned to show off his catches to his mentor, old Silas, who always told him, “patience, lad, patience.” He figured Silas would have some great stories to tell, as usual. Except, there was no Silas. He looked over to the empty shore, where Silas always sat, smoking his pipe.