The young woman waded out into the icy snow melt of the Blackfoot River and prepared her cast. Just like a metronome. Just like her father showed her. The fly soared through the air and danced with the surface currents. A trout jumped, then snapped.
“Reel it in, Honey!” Her father hooted from the shore, with hands cupped over his mouth; a beer between his knees.
Her smile widened to mirror this prize trout as it drew closer in the water. “Toss me the net!”
Her father threw the net while leaning into the bag next to the cooler to grab their camera. “You know the rule! You need a picture with your first fish.”
The net snared the writhing tail as she unhooked the big trout, retrieving her fly. Her father beamed as she waded over to the shore, her thick rubber slickers folding against the water and her bending legs.
“Ready for some pictures?” Her father held up the camera. She grinned, forgetting what it meant to be a teenager caught having fun with your parents.
She picked the fish up, staring at its gills – drowning in the air; red on the inside. Just like her. She smirked. “How about I kiss it?”
“Your mother will love that! Go ahead!” Her father laughed and readied the camera. “Ready?”
She held the fish up and puckered her lips dramatically. “Set!” She attempted to shout through her shmooshed face.
“Go!” Her father returned and took the picture. But the picture her father reviewed was of his mortified daughter kissing a very naked young man with a bleeding cheek.
“What the hell?!” She screamed as the young man fell to the ground, coughing the remains of the Blackfoot River out.
“Get away from my daughter!” Her father shouted, but he didn’t need that instruction. Sooner than he’d said it, the young man was gone. Stepping over to his daughter, he clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Sorry about your fish.”
His daughter shrugged. “It’s okay, Dad. There’re a lot of fish in this creek.”
I hope you enjoyed this short silly story dedicated to my dad for father’s day and our many father-daughter fishing trips. This is the product of a writing group I recently joined and have found is improving my creativity and writing skills drastically. The prompt was: rewrite a fairy tale based where you currently live. I am so grateful for Leslie, Susana, Miguelina, Glorya, and Emmie (I am terrified that I spelled someone’s name wrong, so I may come back and correct name spellings if I did). Being surrounded by powerful women is bringing out the best in me.