8. The Deep

[This is my exam revision, so rate at your freedom, all help is welcome!] Carter Burton and his father Issac have headed out to fish, but they never thought that they would land anything truly epic. But today, Carter gets a lucky break...

The deep chill of Walker Lake in Artic Alaska froze my bones as we got out the Hummer and collected our fishing gear from inside the boot. I knew it was cold enough to potentially freeze my boots to the floor, but my dad Isaac was insistant. We were going to go onto Walker Lake and catch the sea monster that lay beneath the two-foot deep ice. Personally, it sounded like complete balderdash, a plot devised by the Inupiat inhabitants of the land to ward off outsiders. Either my father was completely mad, or he honestly believed the myths. But he seemed confident that he would have a truly enormous fish by the time he left here. He strode off in the direction of the lake, head high, supremely confident, while I followed, head low, nearly embarrassed at my father's brash approach to fishing. The snow crunched and crackled under my feet, like I was standing on lit fireworks. It certainly felt like that inside me.

My father stood out like a sore thumb in the calming white of the surroundings. His massive puffy North Face jacket made him look like the Bibendium, but viewed through a kaleidoscope. His hair was neat and evenly shaved, like it had always been since he was a Marine, and he had the lightest hint of a beard growing through. He was entirely normal, but he was a huge fishing fan. This was his only time away from duty in Afghanistan, and he was going fishing almost every weekend. However, I wasn't an outdoor sort of person. Most of the time, I would sit and play Grand Theft Auto IV and my dad would normally leave me alone and take Keira, my older sister, with him instead, seeing that she was minorally more interested in fishing that I was, and there was several reasons for that. For one, she wouldn't encounter the problem of her glasses steaming up, because she didn't have any. However, I did, so every so often, I would have to stop and clean my lenses out.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity trudging through a fridge-freezer, we arrived at the site and, lo and behold, it was completely the same as everywhere else; an endless expanse of white. I was getting tired of the monochromatic nature of Alaska, but my father Isaac kept reassuring me we were going to recieve our place in the history books today. Somehow, I doubted that, but regardless he began to scope out a suitable spot to cast a line. He settled on an unassuming spot near the edge and, suddenly, stomped the ice. He raised his foot and kept stamping away at the ice like a blunt jackhammer, attempting to create a hole. Eventually, he lost his patience and recruited the aid of a passing local who was better prepared than us, with a drill that looked like it could drill a hole into solid iron. He managed to carve straight into the ice, much to my father's anger, and we cast our lines and took a seat by the snowy bank.

My line bobbed on the water in an almost mocking matter, like it was telling me I was going to get nowt today. Meanwhile, my father was on prodigial form, reeling in fish after fish after fish. He had a beatific grin on his face as he reeled in pike like it was his God-given right to do so. It almost depressed me as my bob floated on the water, forever still. My father had already filled his somewhat large bucket to the brim with squirming fish, and he patted me on the shoulder, as if it was some sort of consolidation for sucking so badly at fishing in comparison to him. He ambled off back to the Hummer to put his fish in the boot, while I sat by the bank, utterly dejected by my failure.

In the distance, I could see a silhouette of a fish-like being in the distance. It was monolithic, easily dwarfing anything my father had caught, and was unbelievably fast, whizzing back and forth beneath the surface. I gazed at it, fixated by its elegant movements. Then, in an instant, it charged in my general direction. The creature, which I had by now dubbed "The Leviathan", munched at my line and pulled it hard, almost sending me rocketing into the lake. I struggled for traction on the icy lake surface, but it seemed to run out of stamina almost instantly, and I shot backwards onto the bank, the fish landing square in front of me. Gasping for breath, and sweat rolling down my cheeks, I screamed out in victory. I had caught the legend. The Leviathan was mine.

My dad dawdled back to collect me, and when he saw what I had caught, he was in for one massive shock. His eyes almost popped out of his head when he saw his son, a scrawny little nineteen year old nerd, holding a fish so large, it dwarfed him. He was lost for words, other than a mumbled "Carter... holy heck...", and I stood, full of pride, as he whipped out his camera and took a photo of a momentous moment in his son's life. He relinquished the Leviathan from me, and we carried it back to the Hummer, my father almost bursting into tears of joy. His son had caught the lake monster of Walker Lake. The Inupiat said it couldn't be done. They had just been proven wrong.

The End

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