Kyle's Rotten Day

His temper was bad. All the way from the boat to the stack it got even worse. Kyle had no luck this day. First his boss fired him, then he noticed that his car had some troubles with the engines and now? Not even his traps had anything worthwhile in it. Crabs, yes, dozens of them in each of his fish traps. He was close to losing his temper once and for all.

He climbed down the stones into the mudflats, his boots vanished up to half their height in silt. He stood and took a deep breath, then shaking his head he lightened a cigarillo, one of those very strong ones. He inhaled the smoke and pondered.

The tide is still flowing back, but if he is to check every one of his fish traps he’s got to hurry. Slowly he set foot after foot and the silt splattered, messing up his jeans and jacket, he sighed. This day was rotten.

One of his fish traps has loosened itself and drifted on a bank… again he shook his head and sighed, billowing out a wisp of smoke and threw the rest of the cigarillo into the water. “Pst.”

He took wide strides towards the fish trap, one of its suspensions got stuck on the bank and he wanted to salvage what he could, new fish traps couldn’t be afforded if his boss wouldn’t re-employ him. He cursed under his breath and as he stood by his fish trap he picked it up and saw that it would be a lot of work to get it fixed.

He put the fish trap together. As he tried to move he noticed that his foot got stuck. He pulled but as he pulled with all strength he caused the other leg to sink into the mess too. He cursed!

As he tried to pull out the leg that was stuck even deeper, he placed the other leg as support on the muddy ground. Suddenly he felt that he made a mistake. Now both his legs were stuck and held tight by the mud. He tried to crawl out, but his legs won’t come free. “Shit”, he cursed.

He looked around and found his fish trap the only thing which might have been used as a safety measure. He noticed that around him water came up through the silt, he knew that he had manoeuvred himself into grave danger. This is like the quicksand which was so dramatic in the movies. He didn’t knew how deep this pit might be. He pulled and pushed, but with each try he only managed to sink in deeper. His breath became laboured, his eyes betrayed the panic he had.

“Help!”, he called. “Help me!”, only some seabirds answered his call.

It was cold, so damn cold. A cold was the last thing he required, he muttered absentmindedly to himself as he slowly sank. As he noticed how deep he got stuck he then more rationally thought that a cold would be the least of his worries.

After another half hour of squirming and struggling he was stuck up to his chest, the silt sucked him deeper with every breath and movement he took. His feet didn’t reach any solid ground beneath him. Desperately he lurched about, thrashed around and tried to get at least up a little. He screamed and yelled as anyone desperate would. His voice was filled with a fear only few would dare to fathom.

Another half hour passed, his motions got weaker due to exhaustion as the mire began to touch his neck. His face was sputtered with mud, a picture of terror and resignation filled his expression. His whole body shivered terribly with both cold and fright, he knew that by now he was even to weak to lift a hand.

As the silt reached his chin he gave out nasty barks for help, his voice was parched, it faltered. The despair that took hold of him made him imagine things. ‘Tomorrow I will wake up and everything will be fine’, he mused to himself. He thought about going to work tomorrow as the mud reached his lower lip.

Again he struggled, fighting against a matchless foe. His breath was panicked, fleeting. As Kyle took his last breath he took it with a desperate sight, expressing his wish to life. His line of sight blurred with tears as the mud crept up his nose, his eyes, his hairline. Then silence, and the call of seabirds… wheeling in the sky.

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20.11.13