The Fisherman

He had arrived sometime during the night. Morning found him sleeping under a tree near the village center. Word of the stranger had passed quickly from home to home. When he eventually sat up and opened his eyes amidst a huge yawn, he was surprised to see nearly a hundred villagers staring down at him.

He arose slowly, knowing that these timid people frightened easily. Who could blame them? They had all descended from the survivors of the Apocalypse. Their stories, handed down from generation to generation told of how strangers had arrived and brought ruin to the civilizations of the world. It was no wonder they feared him; stepping back as one when he rose to his feet.

Asok was not of this planet. He had been sent by the Keepers to help this small planet regain its feet. They had been through a lot. Certainly, their forefathers had deserved the judgment sent down upon them over five hundred years earlier. But those that fought to survive today were innocents.

Asok was here to help.

At each village he visited, he would pass along a skill that had yet to be re-mastered; a single skill that, by itself, would not save the race. They would need to work together in order to make if through another five hundred years. Cooperation, not confrontation was to be their heritage.

Without a word he went into the forest and fashioned a fishing pole; villagers watching. He then went to the nearest stream and quickly caught several large fish. He was gone the next morning but for generations, they would speak of the day the Fisherman came and changed the course of their lives.