THE FISHERMAN

In the dim, pre-dawn light, the deserted area near the water's edge was eerily quiet, save for the gentle lapping of the waves.

The silhouettes of weathered wooden fishing boats dotted the shoreline, their nets hanging loosely like ghosts in the mist.

The air was thick with the scent of salt and decay, a reminder of the ocean’s harshness.

A small chattering was heard from afar as three fishermen approached to set their traps for the morning, their footsteps crunched on the gravelly shore.

Suddenly, one of them froze, pointing to a dark figure lying motionless on the ground.

“Look! A body!”

Antonio lay sprawled on his back lifeless. Blood soaked through his shirt, staining the ground beneath him, a stark contrast to the pale, damp sand.

The fishermen exchanged uneasy glances, scared and at the same time worried about the whole scene.

“He is not from here”.

Another said quietly.

One was brave enough to get closer.

He looked older and more experienced than the other two.

He knelt down