El Gran Catan III

FRONTeras Magazine Vol. 1 No. 3

He sat alone on the hammock listening to the birds settle in. He slowly swayed with the breeze between the two pecan trees. He could hear the water flow through the hose into the orange tree. He was reading a newspaper. He was studying the moon phase. He had decided that the best shot at a catan was on a hot day with minimal moonlight. He wondered where he should set up tonight.

He took a long sip of cold water. Drops fell on his stomach as he raised the glass again. He noticed a small cat at the edge of the grass. It was white with hints of brown and black. Its soft blue eyes wandered around the yard. It teased a step forward toward him. He ignored the cat, knowing that any move might scare it. He leaned back and laid the paper across his chest.

He must have dozed off because he awoke to two large birds cackling. He pushed his feet out and got his balance. He scanned for the cat that was now gone. He went to the faucet and closed it. The overflowing stream had soaked into the grass. He walked in through the heavy glass doors and gathered some leftover scraps of food. He set them on the far pocket where the cat had wandered. Knowing that cats are territorial and seek safe havens, he knew it would be back for more bonding.

He began to prepare his final things for his trip to the lake. As he emerged on the lake’s edge, he heard a group laughing, the music echoing across the water. They were parading jet skis that buzzed around and created unnecessary waves.

He saw a boy stacking rocks in the shallows. His friends surrounded him with chatter and banter. The boy grabbed onto an inflatable and mounted it, continuing to build his underwater Stonehenge. The wind picked up. Sudden gusts began to disrupt the water. The chop strengthened. He set out his bait, knowing this would be a difficult night.

The sun began to drift. The howl intensified. The music kept blaring. He was working on his third line when he heard the shriek—the sound any parent would dread. It was unforgiving and desperate.

“Mijooooooo.”

He looked past the lines toward the horizon and saw the inflatable coasting with the current, carrying a young boy away from his family. Someone dove into the water, feverishly swimming toward the fast-moving float. Another gust twisted the plastic, upending the balance and throwing the boy into the water so violently the man gasped.

The boy was gone.

He drew the lines in and retired for the night. No catan would fight the gusts on the lake tonight—no matter how hungry they were.

@Martie Garcia Vela

@Martie

Copyright 2025 Martie Garcia Vela for FRONTeras. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.

Disclaimer: This is an editorial, not a love letter. The views expressed here are based on documented facts, sworn depositions, and publicly available records. Any opinions are the author’s own and don’t claim to represent legal advice, divine truth, or the official position of FRONTeras.