Fishing

With his legs propped up like a tripod by the glassy lake, he donned a brick-red corduroy unfitting of the weather and a tattered baseball cap that sat squat atop his wavy locks. With the checkerboard wool shirt thrown in with the rest, you'd imagine him to have a ruggedly chiseled lumberjack's face. Curled up next to the woodsman was a cat-eyed gal with pearl-white skin and pitch-black hair. The contrast continued down her chest with her ivory cleavage perking shyly out her slick leather jacket and low-cut black top. Who could tell why she wore a metallic miniskirt, but perhaps her fishnets could be deemed appropriate for the occasion, at least compared to the rest of the habiliments that she and her companion so curiously fashioned. As if to mock their own idiosyncratic buffoonery, their naked feet brushed freely against the soft, aged wooden planks of the sturdy dock. His feet were surprisingly clean and free of hair while her nails were painted black like her saucy apparel. He couldn't hide his slight look of disgusted disapproval on her choice of nail polish color, though he did not mind the rest of her outfit at all. Then again, he was dressed far more strangely, except for the fact that his rugged look seemed to fit the whole fishing situation much more than the girl's skanky outfit.

Everything about them seemed to contrast each other, in fact. She had sharp almond eyes, a thin crisp nose and even thinner lips. Everything about her face was winterlike, sheets of icy snowflakes. He, in turn, was the late summer harvest, or maybe even autumn, tan and round, yet with a boyish charm in his jawline. His eyes seemed to bear a touch of childish melancholy, pure yet mischevious in some odd way that led her to both pity and adore those big round eyes. Objectively, one would say he had the prettier face, with smooth and round features. She did have more delicate features, but the unexplainable coldness about it all seemed much less appealing than his warmth, although some would find such chillingness charming, as he surely did.

So they sat there like sun and the moon, with the late summer breeze caressing her silky locks and his waves peeking out of the grey old cap. The wind nudged the line a little and made the bell make a shy tinkle or two, but the metallic ding dong was hardly worth a whisper when breaking the awkwardly peaceful silence at the lakeside. Perhaps they were waiting for a violent shake at the rod, a silver beauty of a carp, like the one they caught last summer at the very same place. And the sameness of it all accentuated the change they went through. The coy awkwardness that presided between them then now heavily doused the entire atmosphere, while the intimacy that just began to sprout then now waned, leaking through their familiar, yet uncomfortable, juxtaposition with each other.