i left the house. needed to get away. on my ten speed, blue with silver. through the quiet traffic. across town. anywhere. just not there. down the path by the red brick youth club. stream running nearby. follow the stream. across the bridge over the weir. a moment to watch the water tumble and fall. a froth of white turbulence. across I went. no cycles allowed. on-wards into the park with the river running through it. i came upon my stepfather and friend. fishing. watching the bobbing of the float cause ripples on the water. enticing. i took the fishing rod, metallic blue, bottom of the range. a finger resting, watching the line. waiting. the fluorescent float bobbed. then disappeared. up again. then down. a fish biting. a hook cutting in. i wound the reel, pulling occasionally. wound him in. the line straight and taught, heavy. i pulled and wound, pulled and wound. the hook caught. up to the bank. up into the air. the fish thrashing, twisting, spinning on the line. i brought it into shore, on the grass of the bank. its rainbow colours hinted of deep magical places in the sunlight. of freedom in the green reeds, along the beds of the river. the caress of the current on scales as it ran along the body. a never-ending world. i watched as the fish gasped for freedom. its mouth opening and closing in the air. too much oxygen. open. close. open. close. hook through lip. i bent down and carefully removed the hook. carried the fish, in the sun, gleaming, to the sparkle of the river. lay it down on the water. watched it swim free. i left the rod on the bank, said my goodbye to my stepfather and friend. cycled slowly home. through the sleepy traffic of the town. up the hill past the tin topped house. to my door. i opened it quietly. went into the lounge. the rabbit was dead.