But in the dark now and no glow showing and no lights and only the wind and the silent harshness of the tide, he felt that perhaps he was already dead.
He put his two hands together and felt the palms. They were not dead and he could bring the pain of life by simply opening and closing them.He leaned his back against the tide and knew he was not dead.
He reached out for his aluminium bowl and was trying to feel the emptiness of the vessel, to remind him the hungry ones waiting in his muddy hut.Today like any other day he cannot go empty hand.
He is praying for the fishes to become good to him. At least, now. The hunger is too unbearable like the darkness and he is hoping to have a last fight with it. The future is uncertain.He is the last one from the folk lores of the land of 7 Tides and a fishermen's village.
The village is slowly vanishing with its people. And so would his family, sooner or later. It's the last ditch for him to hold on to the family and save the folk lores of the seas...
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