Written for: Sunday photo fiction: 13th July
Yesterday was the eve of his birthday. He would have turned seven this morning. He will forever remain six now.
The beginning of his end.
The Stoney Cove. Diving equipments. A father and a son. And a paraglider.
The full story.
Yesterday was a hot summer Saturday. The sun fried typically everything, including the water in the lake. People sat in their air conditioned homes. When I went out to get some cold beers, the outside felt like a giant baking oven. On my way home, I saw the kid and his father. Judging from the equipments they were loading onto their car, i assumed they were going diving.
Panic before the end.
His father was deep down in the lake. He was holding the fishing rod. The paraglider never meant to panic when he encountered the turbulence. He never meant to hit the kid when he was racing down to do a crash landing. He screamed. The kid never did.
His father swam up. The kid was floating in the lake. A parachute was hanging on a tree on the other side of the lake. A guy was crying helplessly. The water was calm.
The day was warm. Cruelly warm.