That day, it seemed the only sound in the forest was the soft trickle of river water. Even the wind did not dare blow. The trees stood still. The young man standing knee-deep in the middle of the stream made a small movement. In his hand was a spear tipped with sharpened stone. A whole second passed. There was a splash. The young man swung. In the next instant, the spear reappeared in his hand. Stuck to its tip was a large, brown goby. The fish wriggled, struggling to escape, but after only a short time, it stopped moving. The young man removed it and casually placed it inside the wicker basket tied around his waist. Before closing, he inspected his catch. One, two, three goby. One big catfish and three or four smaller variety fishes. Enough for the day. He gazed up but the foliage was so thick, he could only see glimpses of the clear blue sky. It looked like the sky itself was in pieces. He gave a sigh and prepared to wade his way back to the banks. Someone was watching...
from the mind of a twit (version 3)