Personal Narrative: A Short Story: Albacore And Colmack River

As we finished packing up our gear and were just about to start to heading back for home I saw something flash through the ferns on the other side of the river. It was hard to make out because whatever it was had kept darting back and forth through the dank, dark shadows that the edge of the forest canopy had created. We then had left our fishing spot and during the short walk back I’d been forced to listen to my step daddy as he rambled on about how he used to pull Albacore and Bluefish out of the Gulf by the dozens when he was my age. But I was hardly listening to his tall tale because my attention was still firmly locked on the whatever it was that was zigzagging around on the other side of the river. As we neared the bridge on Colmack Road (The one with the graffiti spray painted phallus on its underside.) I had seen it again, just for a moment, and then it was gone, but I saw. It had darted out from behind a pine

You know, get her out of the house for a little while other than to just run errands.” “Yeah, that sounds nice.” I said agreeing with him and giving him my complete focus. “You got some place in mind?” “Don’t have no idea,” he said lighting up a smoke. “But there’s gotta be at least a couple of decent places in this crummy little town we could go.” After having not thought of any places we could take Mama we walked the rest of the way home in silence. Which was fine by me because my interest was still on looking over at the Mt. Harrison side of the river determined that I would see the orange and white critter again, but all I saw were a bunch of rabbits running in-and-out of their