New prompter! Also, this story involves murder. (Attn new Prompter: you can either ask for a continuation of this story or give me another prompt, as you wish)
“Shit.” She was trying to get calm, get mellow, to enjoy the sun on the lake and the breeze in her hair. Her mind kept coming back to the body in the swamp, just a couple hundred feet away.
She hadn’t meant to kill the man. Well, man-thing. She hadn’t meant to be killing anything today, it was a fishing day.
Fishing days were sacred. She got up before dawn, headed out to the lake, and stayed until past dusk.
If she happened to catch something? Bonus.
She didn’t drink, unless someone else came to fish and offered her a beer, then she’d offer them some of her snacks in return and they’d return to mostly-companionable silence.
She’d been doing that for months here, and had been planning on continuing doing so for months more. Maybe years, if she was lucky.
Now it looked like she’d have to move on.
Worse, she knew the spot she’d dumped the body wasn’t all that good. It was sloppy work, but it was fishing day.
Monsters were not supposed to bother her on fishing day.
If she was being honest with herself – and as there was no-one else she could be honest with, she might as well be – if it hadn’t been fishing day, she might’ve given the thing a warning.
She’d just pulled off the side of the road, where most fishers parked when they were going to hit the good post, and there it was, gnawing on an arm.
She’d made eye contact – that was usually enough to scare most of these things away – and it had Seen her and just growled. “My food.”
“My fishing spot. Besides, that’s human. You know the rules.”
The way it had snarled, there was a decent chance it’d gone rabid. “My food.”
“My fishing spot,” she’d snarled back. When it had pounced on her, she’d put a silver blade through its heart.
Then, of course, she’d had to clean the blade and put on gloves and she’d had to drag the body into the swampy part of the park before anyone saw her, and then she’d had to pack up the bloody shirt and the gloves – police were looking for a serial killer, the news had said, and it was no use telling them three-quarters of the kills they’d found had been the monsters’ victims and not hers. The police did not, as a rule, believe in monsters.
She should’ve gone on the run immediately, of course, but fishing day. She’d burned the shirt and gloves in a campfire grill and then put on some aromatic wood and some really smelly sausages – there was a reason she brought stuff like that – changed her shirt, cleaned up in the park bathroom, and gone fishing.
She heard a scream off in the distance, near where her car was. It wasn’t a help scream, it was a shocked scream.
Someone had found the body.
She looked at the line in the water, the bobber bouncing idly.
She looked at her gear.
She hated when things interrupted fishing day.
With a huff, she turned back to the water. She couldn’t stay that much longer; she ought to be gone before the police got here.
Something tugged on her line.
Well, maybe it was better to leave after the police came through?
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