We can’t always have successes, right?

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The sphere floated a good four feet above the ground, there was clearly no sign of suspension, as it seemed to irregularly bob up and down in place.

The movement of it seemed to change the cast shadows upon the wall, making the surrounding room a stage featuring the performance of dancing lights and darks, never mixing but swirling around each other.

First prompt comes from Wigglytype, who simply suggested “Splash”.

Prompt posted with minimal editing.

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The smell of lake water filled his nose, and the rocking of the boat was a subtle sort- noticeable, but not extremely. The kind of rocking that resembled a nervous jitter. He found himself at this moment stuck, surrounded by yards of greenish-gray fluid.

The boat shifted a bit more as Noah’s father adjusted his sitting. The aluminum slat that served as a seat on this can was uncomfortable, and for the old man, the discomfort was only slightly agonizing. The old man liked to fish, and it was something Noah never understood. The water grew still after the boat finished its rocking, and there was an eerie silence. It was broken, fortunately, by the sound of a bird in one of the trees at the shoreline.

Noah finally swallowed and asked a question without really considering whether or not he should ask. “So, do you ever catch a fish while you’re out here?”

The father casually cranked at the reel. “I always do.”

Noah swallowed hard. He didn’t have the heart to tell his father that there hadn’t been a catchable fish in this lake for at least a year. Nobody quite knows what happened. Some fanciful stories included that there was a spillage of toxins in the lake, or that the fish had simply been fished into extinction. Noah always favored the one about the fish taking a cab to the lake next door.

Noah also didn’t have the heart to deal with his father’s condition. The old man was getting up there, and there was some real memory loss, but Noah always just chalked it up to senility. He also shamefully hoped that the comment about always catching fish was just a joke on his father’s part. He was ashamed because that line of thinking was optimistic, and throughout this life his mother would always express that optimism was just not something that worked for him.

His father stirred again, reeling in his quarry of nothing, and proceeded to cast once again. Noah did this as well. Humoring his father was slowly becoming a chore, and he was, admittedly, getting bitter about it. His dad just had to fish in the fish-less lake, not realizing that it was essentially a dead hole full of water. He wanted to shake his father, and tell him to remember, to realize that he’d not caught a fish the last time they were here.

The splash came suddenly after his thoughts of shaking his father into realization, and Noah was immediately struck with guilt over his desire to shatter his father’s view. Once again, another splash shook him from his thoughts, and the boat began to rock.

“Got one. Got one.”

His father was reeling in, full of vigor, pulling against the fish. For a period of a minute Noah just watched in shock and disbelief in this spark of life this day had brought. The fish finally found its way out of the water, and into the boat.

Noah’s father seemed happy enough with his quarry. It wasn’t a large fish, but it was a fish regardless. It would be a productive day for him.

All Noah seemed to see was a fish who was choking, surrounded by something that wasn’t water, and with no way to escape its fate.