A flick and whiz interrupted the tranquility as a man standing on the pier across the way cast a fishing rod, his dark silhouette set against the reddish-orange sunglow of the waning day. The baited hook struck the glassy, mirrored surface of the pond, sending ripples cascading outwards and causing a nearby goose and its three fuzzy goslings to ever so slightly bob like buoys. They were unbothered and kept paddling around the peninsula that opened up to a lagoon of flowering lily pads.
I write both kinds of short stories — horror AND sci-fi
Millerwiller 