Copyright 2010 by Dylan Burnell
The trees swayed in the cool night breeze as the lake nibbled calmly at the bank. Conner waiting patiently for the fish to bite the worm on the end of his line. His muscled Body Rippled as he shifted his weight, The reeds tickle his long legs. The wind gives a sudden violent gust grabbing at Conner's messy black hair. Suddenly the bobber goes under, once, twice, thrice. Conner viciously tugs the pole upwards and starts to furiously reel in the fish he believes to be on his line, come on! He mumbled under his breath as he pulled up on his pole. He starts walking up the bank of the lake stumbling over the reeds. The mud rises to his ankles. Suddenly his right foot slips and he falls face first into the reeds, slamming his arm into something hard. The fishing pole flies out of his hand and proceeds to float away from him as if that was its only goal.
Conner sits up and spits the mud out of his mouth. "This stuff tastes like my grandmother's casserole" he mumbles as he wipes it away from his eyes. He looks down at his side where he hit his arm. there half buried under a log was a strange silvery box that seemed to ripple with swirling silver. As Conner reaches out to touch the strange box it started to pulse a soft blue glow. As his fingers grazed the surprisingly hot edge of the box a faint humming can be heard. Conner Quickly digs the peculiar pulsating box up and lugs it up to the bank; the fishing pole was long forgotten.