It happened last summer. My friends — Artyom, Pasha and Dima — and I went to a lake near the village where my grandma has a small house. It’s quiet there, surrounded by forest and clear water. We just wanted to fish and relax.
It was a hot morning. We set up our fishing rods, but nothing was biting. Not a single fish in two hours. Everyone was already bored.
“Forget this fishing,” Pasha said and pulled out a big cold watermelon.
We cut it open and ate it right there on the shore. All that was left were the thick rinds.
Then Dima said:
“Hey, what if we make a fishing net out of the watermelon rinds? Just for fun!”
We laughed, but we still tied the rinds together with fishing line. We ended up with a weird green “net.”
We waded into the water up to our knees, stretched it between us, and dragged it along the shore. None of us expected it to actually work.
But suddenly — a splash! The water churned, and when we lifted the net, inside was a big fish. It was thrashing, but Pasha threw his cap over it and held it down.
“We caught it!!!” we shouted.
That evening, Grandma fried the fish over the campfire. We sat, ate, laughed — it felt like the perfect summer memory.
But… then something strange happened.
When we were packing up to leave, Grandma suddenly said:
“Don’t leave your watermelon net here…”
“Why?” Artyom asked.
She paused and quietly added:
“At this lake, you only catch a fish once. After that… the lake takes something back.”
We looked at each other.
“Grandma, are you joking?”
“Laugh if you want. But ask the old folks in the village what happened to fisherman Semyon. He once caught a fish in a strange way too… and the lake never forgave him.”
She put out the fire, stood up and said:
“Alright. Go to sleep. And that net… better burn it.”
Since then, we still eat watermelon — but we never tie the rinds together again.
