When insomnia led her to a peculiar old fisherman. Who would expect it to become a moment of realization? The soft voice of a gentleman on a bicycle, who dressed in a blue uniform shirt, asks a frightening woman in a violet nightgown. She sits by the concrete road in the village, close to a small garden. She doesn’t know the cause of her abnormal sleep pattern. The woman usually has a peaceful night ever since she moved out of town to this small seaside village, called Gite de la petite mort. “Would you like a company to get you home?” The security officer, Jack, offers her a hand to help her up off the street. A woman, presumably in her late 30s, takes his hand and brushes off dust from her gown. She takes a deep breath before answering him. “Sure, how many times has it been that you escort me home in the middle of the night?” “Well, five times at least, I assume.” A subtle smile can be seen on his face as he gets down from his bicycle. It could be said that the woman often panics at night, especially if she suddenly wakes up around 2.00 am. She moved to this village a while back with nothing but two suitcases and a cat. The neighbor often talks with her on multiple occasions, which doesn’t happen much unless she goes into the commerce area. However, as a journalist, it is her responsibility to catch the attention of everything around her, inside and outside the village. She has long brunette hair with soft pink lips. She reads and writes daily, ranging from non-fiction to sarcastic short cartoons. Her friendly nature helps her connect with many people in the village, yet no one really understands the person in this one-floor house, as she has barely mentioned her past or the cause of her paranoia in recent weeks. “You should not go out of the house alone at night; it is dangerous out here.” The officer told her while they walked uphill. The woman's cottage sits atop a small hill in the village, near the shallow cliff by the beach. “I know that resident safety is the top priority for you. It's just that I get so frustrated every time I lay my head down on a pillow. My cat has withdrawn attention from me ever since I moved too. ” She replied as she faced down the road, watching her foot crush a layer of sand grains on the road. The churchly sound seemed to distract her from the loud voice in her head. The light wind blows from land to sea, making her hair fly in the same direction. A silence between them had always been this tone for most of the time. They finally approached the woman’s place. As she walked past the gate, the officer spoke up for the first time. “Well, if it’s troubling your sleep, why don’t you go fishing?” “Pardon?” ......

“Hang on!!!! Hold on to that rope.”

The old man shouted to the woman from the other end of the deck. The wave hit the boat in sequence as the thunderstorm surrounded it above.

This is not a typical fishing activity that she expected. It appears that her description of fishing is not on the same table as his. It has been almost 12 hours since they left the pier.

The fisherman has a bit of an alcoholic redheaded character. He tends to yell at her for making a mistake, yet he never entirely puts it on her. She is offended at first, then grows used to it since they are in the same boat, and there is no one else to talk to.

“Today we are going to have a big catch. Hold that rob tightly and pull when i said it!!!”

“YES SIR!!!!!!”

The woman shouts back with all the muscle in her throat, fighting against the sound of rain and oceanic waves.

She pulled out all the strength she had toward the leg to build a firm ground while maintaining balance.

Everywhere she looks, it is all blue and white, aligned in a sweeping curve, with depth highlighted by a border along the horizon. Lightning sounds from everywhere once in a while. It reminds her of how loud life used to feel, until that one sound changed it all.

“We got it, let’s get back to….. Whoaaaa”

As they took the net up, the old man tripped over the rope and got himself overboard.

“Hey, Hold on I am coming”

She threw the half-deflated safety donut toward him and hooked a rope onto one of the pulleys.

The friction between her hand and a saltwater-soaked rope gives a burning sensation, and her skin scratches off every time she moves it.

Somehow, it almost felt like the whole situation replayed itself again.

As the old man in the donut was almost reaching hull, the rope started to tear out, then a snap sound echoed.

If she dodges it, she will likely lose the man to the angry ocean, just like what happened that night.

Everything happened so fast. She cannot think clearly; she is afraid of being alone with herself, but she doesn’t want it to unfold as it did that day.

A peculiar sensation surged up amid the chaos in her head. Her body moved to catch the rope in time, but the incoming wave was so strong that she pulled the donut up with all her power.

A massive wave engulfs the whole boat, and she is pushed into the cockpit wall, knocking her out in an instant.

She slowly opened her eyes to the helm ceiling. A white linen roll is placed beside her head with a sharp pain in her forehead.

She gets herself out of the pouch and looks out the window to a navy sky with a tined shade of white at the horizon. Old fisherman set up a couple of fishing rods on the front deck, preparing to catch a particular fish.

“Hi, were you injured?”

“Huh, do I look like an overnight paralyzed body in a soaking blood with fish slime all over? No, I don't think so.”

A typical sarcastic response from him.

“Come, I will teach you the art of fishing, take a seat”

“What do you mean by ' fishing '? Aren’t the past 18 hours considered fishing?”

”Well, that is fishing, but it’s commercial fishing; now this is fishing as hobby.”

The woman felt so out of place. Did he trick her into being a free laborer so he could keep all the profit for himself? It doesn’t matter anymore, because her head doesn’t work as it should.

She sat down in the cold room channel, and they sat quietly for ten minutes.

“I'm afraid of the idea of making a mistake; it is what haunted me this past few months.”

The woman finally spoke up about her fear. The fisherman turn his face to look at her