Other Nets cast, my father shouted from just feet away. His wrinkled hands were planted

softly in the wheel of a modest trawler. The boat rocked Kami to the soft push of waves,

the salty air threatened to dry my tongue out if I dared speak a word.

One more to go, I called. Most trawlers had an automatic way to cast Nets and bait. My

father stubbornly stuck to what he called the good old fashioned way, but I'd say otherwise.

I took the final cast net, cleared it off tangles, and then wrapped the white material around

my arms a few times and threw it with steady hands. The net hid the water service with a

satisfying gloop and sunk below. I joined my father at the helm as he slowly

stared the boat to the water. Net fishing is a family business, and despite only being

14, my father wanted me to prepare to take over. I don't mind this sea, and this strange

freedom that comes with travelling on a boat in the sun. I like how the wind softly

brushes past me at low speed, and our little splashes of water occasionally cool me down

when it's warm, and I can't wait until I get to drive.

In the distance, what other trawlers, but of bigger sizes, all funded by say to a fishing

co. Then it's mechanical and bright red, since it's the first colour to disappear in

the ocean. Dad must have noticed me staring as he

grunted out of annoyance. Traitors, he huffed. Robots will take everybody's job soon.

It was easy enough for him to say. I've been casting all of his nets since I was ten.

The sea was quiet, between casting the nets and pulling them back up, I'd often pick

up a boot on nap. It was boring. At fourteen, I wanted to meet friends or sleep in, not get

up before dawn and sail out the sea. How must it be in there a few minutes, when the

air turned cold? The sun's intensity stopped, and it's assaulting my closed eye litended.

...