"It's been years since I first cast out a net," said the old man, scratching his sun-bleached beard. "I've worked this little cove every day, or darn near, catching enough to feed myself and sell for enough to get everything else I need. Not that you need much when you live simply. I have a small house here on the Mexican coast, not really much more than a shack, really, and I have a row boat I use to get out to where the fishing is best.""I'd had a good career in the military. Then the war came. I led my men. I was good at it, and we killed a lot of the enemy. That doesn't bother me. But when I close my eyes sometimes, I can still hear the screams of my men after the blast...screaming and crying and bleeding and dying. What really haunts me, though, is the one troop who died in my arms. I'd seen a lot of killing and dying at that point, but in this case, I watched the life leave his eyes, his body...one of my men."When I got back from the war, I couldn't shake it. Loud noises unnerved me. I lost my family. So I fled to here. It's quiet and I'm only responsible for me."With that, the old man turned, pushed his boat into the waves, hopped in, and rowed out into the cove. I haven't seen him since and often wonder if he was real.
Rob: you ARE phenomenal!