I moved swiftly down to the end of a pier and surveyed my surroundings.

Death hung like a dinner bell in the air beckoning me closer.

I stole silently to the end of the long dock, where an old fisherman sat against a barnacled pillar.

His visage lined with deep creases from years of the onslaught of sun and salt.

I walked silently up to him and he slowly raised his eyes to meet mine.

A knowing look came into his countenance, he knew what I was, and why I was here.

Fishermen were a different breed in a lot of ways, still believing in superstitions.

Whereas the modern world had moved forward and left the old tales and legends behind,

 Fisherman knew and understood that there were unexplainable forces at work in the universe.

They had on many occasions been out to sea with nothing but the tempest storms that had

a life of their own.

And realized it was up to the secrets within the depths of the ocean whether they lived, died,

prospered, or went home without any catch at all.

Life was not really a game of chance, it was of circumstances and fate.

The old man had fear in his eyes as I approached, but there was also a sense of peace and

resignation.

His life was complete and he had no regrets, he had lived how he wanted with the salty air

always in his face.

The caress of the ocean under him, as the fishing boat would rock and sway to its nautical music.

The thrill of winning against all the insurmountable odds of unknown waters, winds, and storms,

to bring in his livelihood so that he could go out and replicate the process another time.

But the final day and hour had come of this maritime existence he had chosen for his life.

He gazed out upon the gentle rolling tide as the shadow of my essence enveloped him,

and the closing breath of his mortality escaped his lips.