Two sat alone in a boat, a fisherman and a fisher of men. They sat with their backs to each other, poles in hand, and the silence of the cool night air was broken only by their low voices and the occasional plop of a fishing line.
"Who are you, really?" asked one.
Moonlight beamed down through the clouds as if in thick rivulets, illuminating the water's dark purple surface.
"I am what I am," came the response. His voice was old, as if it had originated from a time when there were stars that had since died, and his voice was strong, as if those ages had done nothing to weather it. "But you knew that," the voice added.
"I want to believe. But this is a dream. A hallucination experienced during a nightly eight hour period of unconsciousness."
"That is a problem, isn't it?"
"No other response? No solution for me?"
"I am what I am. There is my answer."
After a time, the man woke, and pondered, and lived.
Follow-up: The Other Side of the Line
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