Perched on a rock, the fisherman silently sat, the sweeping tropical sea sloshing about him. He had not caught a single fish today but that did not discourage him as he had never caught a fish in his life. Twelve years of fishing had not made Alan a better fisherman, only a stronger man. The continuous casting of the rod had developed the muscles on his right arm to such an extent that he was able to lift five horses without effort. But it was not for the fish or the horses that he sat on the rock everyday. No, he sat there because the rock was his friend. The rock was kind to him, let him sit on it and never made fun of him, unlike the townsfolk on the island who laughed at him or avoided him. It was difficult being the only yellow skinned man on the island, but in times of loneliness and isolation there was always one place he could go, one place where he did not feel like an outsider, one place where he was accepted. He was the only man who went to south side of the island.

Having had no success for the past four hours, he decided to cast his rod a few inches to the left. Getting up, he planted his foot firmly on the rock, measured wind speed and direction, aimed and cast. At that very moment he felt a sharp pain in his foot. Blood was pouring out of a cut as quickly and violently as a urinating bull. Stooping down, he searched for the perpetrator. Was it a crustacean of some sort? Or was it one of his fishing hooks? No! It was the rock! Shocked and stunned, he glared at what he thought was his friend. Cold and impassive, the rock stared back, showing no sign of remorse for his actions. ‘Et tu, Brute?’ the fisherman asked before fleeing so that his former friend would not see the tears in his eyes.

Weeping in his room, only then did he realise the severity of his predicament. The rock was against him too. He was alone again. He had no one. If only he could be black like all the other townsfolk, then perhaps they would accept him, let him into their world. If only.

Needing something to take his mind off the sorrow, he made himself a coffee. Taking a sip, he found it as bitter as his heart. ‘Needs sugar’ he thought, so he added a spoonful and stirred. Images of the townsfolk laughing at him appeared in his head. Angered, he stirred harder. Memories of the times they ignored him materialized in his mind. Harder still he stirred. Finally, a vision of the rock appeared and, unable to contain his anger any longer, he stirred the drink with such force that a vortex erupted from the cup, engulfing him like a Hoover.

Slowly opening his eyes, Alan found himself lying in the town square. Looking around, he noticed something spectacular. All the people around him appeared to be yellow just like him! Was this the beginning of a new and better life? And why did everyone turn yellow? He had all these questions but no answers and no one to ask. Luckily, he was a man of intuition, which not only made him very good at being irrational, but also made him rather skilled in fooling himself. Listening to his intuition, he decided that his excessive stirring had caused a rift in the fabric of space and time resulting in a vacuum which sucked him into this parallel universe where everyone on his island was yellow skinned.

‘Hey! There you are!’

A hand pulled him up from the ground. Connected to the hand was the face of a smiling, now yellow skinned, townsperson.

‘What are you doing on the ground? Come spend the week with us!’

Happiness pounded his heart like a dog humping a leg. He was spending a week with people! It was a dream come true. Grinning like a child molester watching a Huggies commercial, he followed the man.

‘Let’s go fishing! I’ve got this really great spot I’d love to show you guys!’ he suggested.

‘Fishing?’ the man repeated with a puzzled expression, ‘How can you fish at a time like this? We need to study!’

The best way to induce a man into doing anything is to deny him the privilege. By denying him his right to fish, Alan was more intent on going fishing than ever. However, he was unable to find a tackle shop anywhere and frustrated, he had no choice but to ask a passer by for directions.

‘Excuse me, do you know where I could buy a fishing rod?’

‘What on Earth would you need a fishing rod for?’ asked the man.

‘Why, to fish’ answered Alan.

‘You should not be fishing! You need to study! If you fish how can you study?’

‘But I don’t want to…’

‘Want? One cannot have selfish individual wants! You must meet our expectations of you! It is important for you to study very hard so that you can get a good job and earn lots of money so that you can afford for your children to study hard as well!’

‘But everything I’ve been told to study is of little practical use!’

‘Don’t you get it boy? It’s not about practicality or trivial knowledge, it’s about how you compare to everyone else! If you’re not better than everyone else at doing pointless things then how will you get a job and make money?’

‘But I just want to fish…’

‘But there is no money in that! Money is the most important thing in the world and you can’t have money unless you study! But you cannot spend all the money, you have to save it forever.’

‘What is the point of having all that money if you can’t use it?’

‘To have more money! Stop asking stupid questions and go study or play piano/violin.’

That entire week Alan was forced to study, cover his furniture and appliances in plastic and shame his wallet with tiny stickers that showed a photograph of people making peace with a tiny plastic photo booth. Realising his predicament, Alan knew what he had to do. Hiding in his room, he quickly made a cup of coffee. Making sure none of his ‘friends’ had followed him, he vigorously stirred, once again creating a vortex which consumed him.

Lying in the town square, no hand came to pull him up. When he arrived home he reached for his rod and instinctively went in the direction of his favourite haunt. Stopping suddenly, he stood and thought. Perhaps it would be nice if he actually caught a fish today. Turning around, he headed for the northern side of the island.