The smell of a fresh thunderstorm fell faint as the rage swelled within him. It was a perfectly good day of fishing dismayed by the enemy. Who knew they would deploy poison as retaliation? Certainly not he, the one known as The Basher. It was the fourteenth one in a row and something had to be done! The last one had swallowed the hook and The Basher could take no more. With a mighty converse raised high with pride and brought down by fury, The Basher’s aim was true. No matter how true his aim was The Basher’s heart was not and the enemy had a poison spear at the ready. As the pain raced through his foot and into his leg everything for The Basher went black. Luckily his comrade, a young man name Christopher ripped the catfish, spine and all, from the foot and one inch rubber sole of The Basher. The Basher gasped to life and as the air filled his lungs the rage subsided even though the pain soared. Perplexed afterward as to why he had lost his rage towards the enemy, the basher consulted with his father. To which his father replied “patience”.
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