Myka stared out at the mossy green sludge covering the shallow remains of a once beautiful and shining lake.
A distant memory filled his mind with laughter, and the sound of small splashes as a rock skipped across the surface of the lake. Ripples spread across the water, shaking the golden reflection of the sun.
He swallowed as the memory fell away, replaced by reality.
The lake was almost gone. What remained was a mess of browns and greens. Mud and muck, filled with overgrowth of bright green and yellow plants. From the lakebed came a smell so sour that he was forced to cover his mouth.
The small dock where his father had taught him to fish was almost completely torn away. A large tree branch crushed whatever remained of it. But even before that, the small dock had long been abandoned and destroyed by time.
