Devourer of Souls
I suppose needing to eat and always being on guard for your father’s routine unemployment served as a big motivator.
But that afternoon Jake came up strangely empty fishing for bottom feeders. We all caught some trout. I landed four, Gary five and Kevin a whopping three (I think he just liked walking in the woods more than anything else). Jake, as usual, had landed seven trout, knowing exactly where to cast his bait, as always.
Try as he might, though, he couldn’t land any suckers or carp. After several bottom-feeders squirmed from his grasp, Jake finally rolled over and punched the ground, enraged. “Fuck this shit,” he snarled.
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