I’ve been DeviantArting again. Here’s a short, 350 (2-minute) flash inspired by the image below.
The image showed a man, about forty, sitting on a jetty. He has a pensive expression and is dressed upper-half: smart, but lower-half: jeans. Lying beside him on the jetty, is an old sit-up-and-beg bicycle.
The jetty lies on a large river. It might be the Rhein or the Hudson or the Potomac, but it’s a rural setting. The opposite bank is visible, but a few hundred yards away.
“Thanks for this send-off, Maarten. Your father would have approved.”
“Thanks for coming, Mr De Witt. Papa would have been pleased you could make it today.”
“Please, Gottfried.” As they shook hands, Gottfried leaned in. “Any way I can assist, let me know. Your father and I went back a long way. I’d be happy to help.” Grasping the man’s arm, Maarten murmured, “Thank you Gottfried. Perhaps to sometimes come in and feed his cat? Just until we decide what to do with him? But for now, thank you for seeing dad off. I know he appreciated it.”
“You have my number.”, chimed the man.
Closing the front door, Maarten took a deep breath. The last of the mourners, gone. He sighed with relief. He’d now buried both Mama and Papa within the space of three years and couldn’t help chuckling to himself: he was a forty-year-old orphan. He glanced around. Faced with all of their memories, he dreaded the task ahead. But that could wait until tomorrow.
Maarten was interrupted by a hungry Sampson, a handsome black-and-white tom, who emerged cautiously from upstairs.
“Hello, there, old boy. Been hiding? It’s okay. All those people are gone now, so shall we fix you a late lunch? I think you might be in luck today – how does leftover salmon grab you?”
Having fed the cat, though, Maarten needed fresh air.
“Pa…”, he began, before reminding himself that he was alone now. He could “borrow” whatever he pleased, it was his now, anyway. Having the foresight to change out of his good suit, he stole to the shed, where he quickly found Papa’s old bicycle.
Even as he wheeled it out, he wasn’t sure of his plans. Just ride… let the breeze shake the cobwebs from his head. Until he reached Dorpsweg, where the full blast of cool river air jogged his memory. The jetty where Papa taught him to fish. He’d not even seen the Waal since he left home and… well, that was almost twenty years ago.
The Waal is one of the Dutch names for the Rhein.