This is a Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers submission. Thanks to Footy and Foodie for the inspiration. Apologies for my failure to stick to the word limit. I tried and tried to pare it down, but the story just wasn’t the same. This is my first offering for a number of months so I’m hoping I’ll be allowed to carry over 20 words or so.
(apologies, too, that the title makes no sense. I really need to get to bed and that’s the best I can do)
Dimitri couldn’t help but ruminate wistfully whenever he gazed over a body of water. It was what made him such a gifted screenwriter. It was a pity, then, that he’d chosen to make his home on the Island of Kos. Surrounded, as he was by the Aegean Sea, he found himself too busy ruminating to actually get any writing done. Forced to make ends meet, he took a job in a petrol station. Oil might make the world go round, but as liquids went, it wasn’t particularly evocative.
He’d’ve been fine if the manager hadn’t decided to run a promotion on bottled water. A portly trucker, looking for something to wash down a pasty, handed over a bottle of Volvic.Dimitri couldn’t help himself and, by the time the punter handed over his debit card, our man was lost in a reverie about the time he beat his father at tennis. When the robber came in demanding the day’s takings, the poor sap didn’t stand a chance.
Some say his ghost still haunts the island but as anyone who’s met him will attest, Dimitri’s stuck on the banks of the Styx, pining for his first love, whilst the ferryman glowers on.