Excerpt: Nib's Canal

Prologue

The fishing was terrible. Twelve year old Jacob Smith stood next to the vast openness with his line dangling from his small hand, hoping, perhaps beyond all hope, that today he would be successful.

Yesterday he had failed and the disappointment that crossed his mother’s face nearly brought him to tears. The thought of his family going hungry because he could not fish well, bothered him. What no one seemed to realize was that no one ever showed him the proper way to fish so he could be successful.

He wished his Dad was still alive. That way he would have someone to show him what he was doing wrong.

Standing in the open might not be a good strategy, he thought so Jacob crouched down into the grass. Maybe staying out of site would work better.

But crouching forced the steel blade of his dad’s hunting knife to push against his leg. It hurt, but at least it did not draw blood. The hunting knife was the one tip his dad gave him before he passed, he had told Jacob that the first thing you want to do it make sure the catch can not get away and to get the body as far from the clearing as fast as possible, so no other prey would not know you are in the area.

He just had to be successful today. If he came home unsuccessful again, his family would be even more upset with him than they were yesterday, for it meant that they would have to go hungry for another day.

As he crouched and waited, he wondered if the fishing was better in other towns. He had heard that others from his town had success here and that is why he came, but yet no luck came with him.

His stomach growled reminding him that he has been unsuccessful for the past two days.

Jacob practiced throwing the line out and bringing it back. The first few times the line became tangled and he had to spend several precious and heart pounding minutes untangle the mess; the whole time hoping that a chance to feed his family did not come along.

Then he heard it, off in the distance and coming his way. Opportunity .

Crouching, line ready, he waited.

His quarry came closer, the noise growing louder by the second. Only his heart beat louder.

Patience is what he needed now. Throwing the line out too soon would be just as disastrous as throwing it out too late. Too soon, and the quarry could spot it and take corrective action, too late and . . . well he did not want to think about what it would mean to be late.

Just a few more seconds.

Three . . .

Two . . .

One . . .

He threw the line out, knowing he had done right this time, the line landing on the asphalt just as his quarry sped past.

The car was in the far lane and he missed.

Damn, he thought. That one had a family of four inside too. That would have feed his family for a week.

But all was not lost this afternoon. As he pulled the line back in, being careful not to tangle it again, he heard the engine of another car fast approaching.

This time, he was certain that he would be successful and bring dinner home for his family.