In 500... (or less)

Jim's Fishing Trip

Only the gentle plop of the fishing lure landing in the water broke the silent calm of the morning.

"This is the life," the fisherman thought to himself. "I wish I could stay here forever."

He reached into his cooler, burrowing through the ice for a refreshing beer. He hadn't been able to relax in ages. Alone in his boat, it was the first time he'd gotten to relax in quite some time.

"A cold beer and some peace and quiet," he mumbled aloud. "I don't even care if I catch anything."

The stresses of his job were far away, this was the vacation he needed. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. There were no emergencies here that required his attention, only a pond full of hungry bass.

Off in the distance, some dogs began to bark, growing closer to the small pond with the lone fisherman. At first, he paid it no mind, just the sounds of the countryside, he thought. But it grew closer and closer.

Without warning, there was a loud splash. An animal had leaped from the shore and plunged into the water. The fisherman couldn't make out the animal right away, but it wasn't one of the dogs he'd heard.

"What in the world..." he said to himself as the creature made its way across the pond. 

It wasn't an alligator, though they were found in these parts. It was too small for that. Perhaps a snake? He couldn't be sure at first.

Cottonmouths were not uncommon in these parts, but the head of the animal was a light brown, the wrong color for a water moccasin. Nor was it a vicious snapping turtle, intent on chasing off the interloper to its pond. He once knew a man who was missing a few toes courtesy of an encounter with a snapper while swimming. The possibilities ran through his mind as the ripple made by the swimming animal closed on his boat.

He set the beer down and leaned down to grab one of the oars. The animal seemed to be coming for him. It didn't look natural, perhaps it was rabid.

"I don't want any trouble," the fisherman said to the animal, lifting the oar up high enough for the animal to see it.

But it never veered. It headed straight for the fisherman. He would have to defend himself.

Gripping the oar with both hands, he raised it up to his shoulders and took a mighty swipe toward the creature. Then another.

Only on the third swing did the creature grudgingly turn from its course. The fisherman held the oar menacingly, to ensure the animal did not resume its attack.

The brush rustled in the woods behind the fisherman and suddenly two men in suits burst onto the shore of the pond.

"Are you ok, Mr. President?" one of them shouted out to the lone fisherman. "For a moment there, it looked like that rabbit might attack you."