The Last Throw| FLASH FICTION

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The large shadows of the quenching, evening sun fell upon the glassy river as Pau and his son gently paddled their boat, hoping to make a good catch before the flames of the day died out. The duo had toiled all day long and had caught nothing, nothing worthwhile to prepare the evening meal.

The fishes in the river, it seemed to Pau and his son, were fasting ─ for the legless creatures had refused to touch the baits in the hooks. But Pau was not such a man that would give up easily, one more throw of the hook could make all the difference. And he was right; it did make all the difference.

The last throw caught a crocodile which, although ended in Pau's pot of soup, cost him two of his fingers.

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Pixabay.com



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