A Cursed Catch

​Ever since I started using my father’s old fishing rod, I’ve been catching… strange things.

​Treasure chests. Glitter and gold. Artifacts, soaked but alive, begging to be rescued from the deep. Is it the water or the rod?

​I’ve been pulling in more wet boots, too. On bad days, I come home with a dozen of them. Who here keeps losing all their shoes? I’ve started stacking them up, pairing them when I can, but I’m tired of the sight.

​My father held his tools in high honor, and I’ve tried to do the same - but this rod… I ought to throw it out. I can’t afford to wait for every big haul... I prefer to return to predictable, reliable results. I've packed it up and stashed it in the basement of my house. One day, I'll return to it... in a time of need, perhaps.