Gordon found ice-fishing relaxing. Despite the frigid temperatures, there was something peaceful about being alone on the vast, frozen lake, in utter silence save the groaning ice.
His rod was securely fastened to his stool, the line disappearing into the indigo abyss of the icehole. Gordon had just nodded off, when a sharp tug yanked his entire chair. Grabbing the pole, he was instantly at the hole’s edge.
“C’mon, baby…” He wrestled the pole, dreaming of trout for dinner.
Beneath the ice, a behemoth shadow stretched the length of the lake, patiently waiting to see what was on its line.
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alt="Phantom by Liam Dragan"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Neuroluxe Implant no 3Z82M99B64 by Bryanna Botham"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Blindly Following Orders by Chris Tattersall"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Donor by Collette Night"
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>