The Catch of a Lifetime

Part 1

Lisa's POV

The salty spray kicks up and stings my face as our small fishing boat cuts through the heaving swells. The horizon stretches out endlessly in all directions, just empty ocean as far as the eye can see. I grip the gunwale tightly, my calloused fingers wrapped around the coarse rope of the fishing line.

The blazing sun beats down from directly overhead, not a cloud in the sky to provide a bit of merciful shade. Sweat trickles down my brow and plasters strands of my dark hair to my temples. My thin shirt clings to my back, damp with perspiration and sea mist.

"Damn, it's a scorcher today," BamBam groans from the other side of the boat, shielding his eyes against the glare. "You'd think growing up in this humidity would make a guy immune to it."I just grunt in response, my attention focused on the subtle twitches and vibrations traveling up the fishing line.

"So Nalalisa, your dad been able to find any work recently?" he asks, letting the rod dangle over the edge of the boat. "Or is it still just your daily catch keeping your family fed?"

I stay silent for a moment, feeling the rhythm of the swaying boat.

"Just the fish," I finally reply with a shrug of my tanned shoulders. "But we get by."

I'm used to the struggle, to nights with empty bellies and applying worn hand-me-down clothing. Poverty is just a fact of life, something everybody around here deals with daily. BamBam knows that as well as anyone.

"Yeah, well, maybe one day we'll both get off this rock and see what else the world has to offer, you know?" he says with a wistful look across the rippling emerald waters.

"Maybe," I mutter, not really allowing myself to dream much beyond getting tonight's meal. I give the line a sharp tug, feeling it go taut.

That's when the real work begins.

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The sun hung low over the waving surface of the sea, striping the waves with blazing streaks of orange and crimson. I could feel the day's fierce heat finally beginning to dissipate as the glowing orb sank towards the horizon. BamBam and I worked feverishly, our tanned arms straining as we hauled in the last of our catches before nightfall.

"Got another nice amberjack!" I called out, carefully unhooking the wriggling golden fish and dropping it into the large cooler between us. The ice-packed container was filled nearly to the brim with our day's haul - ruby-colored snappers, iridescent dolphinfish, and chunky groupers, their scales flashing in the fading light.

"That should be enough for today," BamBam panted, stray strands of shaggy black hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. He started gathering up the tangled lines, his hands calloused and battered from years on the ocean.

As the last rays of dusk disappeared, we fired up the little outboard motor and pointed the bow towards the flickering lights of the shoreline village. My body ached with weariness, my shirt soaked through, but I felt that deep satisfaction of a job well done.

At the wooden dock, we split up our catch - keeping a portion to bring home to our families while tying off the rest into bulging nets to sell at the market. With the heavy nets slung over our shoulders, BamBam and I started the familiar trek through our ramshackle neighborhood of rusting tin roofs and cracked roads.

That's when the loud laughter and jeering voices reached us. Up ahead, leaning against a stucco wall under a flickering streetlight, was the group of local toughs that lorded over the village youths through intimidation and petty thievery.

"Well, well, if it isn't the two little fishies," one of them sneered, looking us up and down with obvious disdain as we approached. 

"Must've been a good day on the water for you two brats to be so loaded down." Another added.

BamBam tensed up next to me, his jaw clenching and I could see the anger flashing in his eyes. He opened his mouth, likely to unleash a blistering retort, but I cut him off with a sidelong glance and a slight shake of my head. Deflating, he snapped his mouth shut again as we pushed past the guffawing gang members without a word exchanged.

No use risking a beating today when we had mouths to feed.

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Later that night, after selling off the day's catch at the bustling pier-side market, BamBam and I parted ways. I returned home to the tiny plywood shack I shared with my father, the savory aroma of grilled fish wrapped in banana leaves filling the small space.

"Sit, sit," my father urged, having prepared a simple but nourishing meal with some of our kept bounty. As we ate together by the flickering light of an old lantern, he fixed me with his deep-set, caring eyes.

"Lisa, I've decided to take that job that my cousin told me about in the city," he said firmly. "Steady work in a factory. It could be our chance at a better life away from this poverty."

I froze, grilled fish halfway to my mouth as his words washed over me. I knew he was right, that life would undoubtedly be easier away from this impoverished village of ramshackle huts and seaweed-strewn beaches. Hopping a ship across the strait to the towering skyscrapers and ultra-modern metropolis held such tempting promises of opportunity.

But this was my home. These salty waters and swaying palms held my entire world and identity. The very momentum and rituals of my daily existence as a fisherman's daughter thrummed in my very bones and blood. I couldn't abandon it, not like this.

Shaking my head slowly, I met my father's gaze steadily.

"That's wonderful for you, Pa. But I...I can't leave. This is my life. Our little town, the sea, the fishing..." I spread my calloused hands helplessly. "It's everything to me. As hard as it is, I can't just walk away."

My father's shoulders slumped and I could see the disappointed crease in his weathered brow. But after a moment, he simply gave a weary nod of acceptance.

"Well, if that's what you want, anak (child)," he said gruffly. "I'll move to the city at first light tomorrow then. But I'll be back to visit as soon as I can get some vacation days, you can count on that."

Reaching across the rickety table, I gripped his wizened hand tightly, fresh gratitude for this incredible man swelling in my chest.

"Salamat (Thank you), Pa. I'll be right here waiting."

The sea was in my blood, wild and eternal. And I would stay by its restless shores, no matter how difficult the crashing waves of life may be.

Author's note:

So, what do we think about the first chapter? I wanna try a different reality for Jenlisa, hence why I'm trying to write this.