Walking along the edge of the highway in the hot July heat, Dillon could see something laying in the road just up ahead. At first, he thought it was a dead fox or raccoon. However, as he drew closer, he saw that it was a dead cat. He couldn't help but stare at the dead creature.
The cat lay in a curled up position like it was asleep. Except for a thin trickle of blood coming out of one of its nostrils, you might never know that it was dead. Of course, what kind of cat would take a nap on a highway?
Dillon reached down and picked up a stick that was laying beside the road. Poking the cat gently, he nudged it off of the road and into the weeds. There was no use leaving it where some car could splatter its guts all over the place. He didn't want to take the time to bury it. It wasn't HIS cat after all. But he felt sorry for the little creature. It was black with white paws. It sort of reminded him of a cat that he used to have when he was a little boy. Hadn't he called it Boots? He couldn't remember.
Finishing the dreadful job, he continued on his way. He knew that the buzzards would take care of the unfortunate dead creature soon. They were all too efficient here in good old Breathitt County. He had often seen them circling overhead, on the lookout for their next meal. He shuddered. He didn't want to think about it.
And now he didn't have to. He had come to the bend in the road and there was the path that led down to the creek. It was just a little path and most people would have missed it if they didn't know what they were looking for. Hoisting his fishing pole and supplies up on his shoulder, he made his way down the steep bank and into the shadow of the trees.
Going down to the creek bank was like entering another world. The air was thicker....heavier. Bugs flew toward his face, threatening to choke him before he could make it to the bottom. His nose started to run as the pollen in the air settled into his nasal passages and tickled his throat. This was the worst part of going fishing. But then, up ahead, he could see the flowing stream. Troublesome Creek was sparkling in the sun like a jewel.
Breaking free of the heavy, thick air from under the trees, Dillon took two deep breaths of fresh, sweet air that was cooled by the moving waters. It was delicious to breath after being in the underbrush, even if he had only been in there for a few minutes. He always felt like he was going to suffocate in there. Would the buzzards come looking for him? But then, whenever he broke into the bright sunshine beside his fishing hole, it was like a rebirth. Every part of him rejoiced.
Opening his backpack, he took out a bottle of Mountain Dew. It wasn't ice cold like it had been earlier, but it was still cool. He opened it and took a long drink. It burned his throat but he liked the way that it burned. After his long walk, nothing tasted better. Belching loudly, he got his fishing gear ready for a long afternoon of relaxing and doing nothing.
Half an hour later, he was almost dozing in the afternoon sun. His fishing line was a lazy drifter in the slowly moving waters. All around him the world was buzzing and chirping. It was a sweet summer lullaby that was edging him closer and closer to sleep. In fact, he would have probably fallen asleep right then and there if his line hadn't suddenly moved.
"Fish!" he yelped excitedly, grabbing his fishing pole with a sturdier grip. With one swift tug upward, he felt his hook catch hold. This was the part that was always exciting for him on these fishing trips. He loved reeling in the struggling fish and then catching it for dinner. He hoped it was a big one!
Slowly at first and then quicker and quicker, he reeled in the fish. It must be a big one indeed. It was so heavy! In fact, he realized, it was too heavy to be a fish. It was probably a turtle from the feel of it. It wasn't even thrashing.
And then, it broke the surface of the water and Dillon froze.
It wasn't a fish. It wasn't a turtle.
Dillon was staring at a human arm.
Until next week.....class dismissed!
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