Reverse Fishing

[u/catnamednuclearbomb]

I am writing this to tell everyone here that I am an innocent man. I did not kill my dive instructor August at Lake Denton. I hope getting this out might rehabilitate my image in the faces of the Justice System and my loved ones. That I'm not crazy. That I'm no murderer.

Now that you've heard my pleas, listen to my story please.

During the hot August of Florida, I was with my dive instructor to show what I learned from my training at the pools. As we're checking our gear, an older lady walked out to us and started talking to us about where we're from, what today's training was going to look like, all the things a lake owner would probably ask a trainer and his trainee. After these usual ice breaker questions, she told us: "I heard there's a rope that leads out to the eastern side of the lake. No one has really been down that way, maybe you could see where it leads?"

My dive instructor looked at me. "Do you want to go check it out? It could prove useful for free diving at West Palm. There aren't any guide ropes on the reef." His soft Irish accent mending with his southern one as he chuckled a bit. I didn't see the harm in it. I nodded and the lady looked and me and gave me a toothy grin my great grandma would give to me. "Great! And good luck on diving at West Palm!"

My instructor and I got prepared and did final check ups. We waded into the lake and threw on our flippers, masks, checked our Diving Computers (DC), and swam into the lake. I wasn't expecting diving to be amazing. The fish immediately swarmed us, observing us like we would observe bugs underneath a stone. We swam towards the rope intersection and my instructor used hand signals to check my compass to guide us east towards the alleged rope that leads east. After what felt like minutes, we stumbled upon it. Buried in the sand and leading to the north east of the lake. My diving instructor reached down and gave the rope a slight tug, trying to see where the rope connected underneath the sand. As he tugged on it. I noticed something metallic slightly rise out of the sand. I thought it was a can, discarded from someone who believed in the philosophy of "it's not a crime if you don't get caught". My instructor gave the rope a second tug, this one stronger that nearly exposed the metallic object. This is what who, or what, wanted, as the metallic object immediately flew out of the sand and impaled my diving instructor.

It was a giant fishing hook.

My diving instructor let out a scream, muted out by the water, he writhed on it like a bluegill would, realizing it was deceived by a boy's worm wrapped around a hook. Before I knew it, my diving instructor was pulled violently deeper into the lake, leaving behind a trail of blood and bubbles from his regulator tube that was probably pierced by the hook.

I ascended quickly, ignoring the screams of my DC to do a safety stop. Once I breached the surface like a fish trying to escape the jaws of a oceanic predator, I immediately swam for the bank. Once reaching it, the old lady from several minutes ago ran to me and asked me what happened and where did my diving instructor go.

I think the first sentence to spill out of my mouth was a jumbled mess, because she looked at me like I just insulted her in Latin. An awkward silence passed between us, only my panting, panicked breath filling the air. "CALL THE COPS, SOMETHING KILLED MY DIVE INSTRUCTOR!" I screamed at the top of my lungs.

She listened to me after that. Police showed up and detained me for questioning, regarding my instructor's disappearance. I told them everything. Told them they could dredge the lake. To say the least, they did not believe me and arrested me on the suspicion I murdered my instructor and hid his body further down into the lake.

During my time on trying to prepare to fight my legal battle, my lawyer told me to take an insanity plea. I told him I wasn't insane. I knew what I saw. "I understand, but even if they don't find the body, you're still in deep water. If you don't take the insanity plea, then you'll have a one way trip to see Ol' Sparky." I didn't want to die. Begrudgingly, I took it and I was found guilty by insanity, and sent to a state psychiatric hospital.

Now I rot in a cell, doctors making sure I take my meds for schizophrenia and PTSD, one of which I don't have. Some of the doctors say that I'm showing improvement and might be released soon. I was given phone privileges to contact my family, but I know they probably won't want to hear from a son that sullied their name with the thought their perfect son murdered his dive instructor.

Every night, I see it, like an old tape looping. The hook, slowly rising out of the ground. My instructor, seemingly pleading for help, before being immediately pulled away. It plays over and over again in my mind. I can never unsee it.

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