Tsunami at the river
The sun is radiating with happiness and all sorts of skin threatening extras. I have left my notepad at home for once while Fahrenheit and Celsius are working double shift.
My towel is posted up next to a river 1,5 hours outside of the city. A few hundred others have woken up with a similar plan. Providing me with the opportunity to write something cheeky later on. Cheers.
I glance at the fellow human beings surrounding me. I don’t know the names that are considered trailer trash in Argentina. I do know that the majority of these people over here go by those names.
There’s shouting, alcohol being drank by designated drivers, cigarettes smoked by the carton, some angry looking Dutch guy with tattoos and there is music. Of course there is. It is not merely one song at a time. The bass, instruments and profound lyrics are coming from all directions.
“I like to drink. She likes to dance. She said hello. I might have a chance.”
“Her ass. Yes, ass. She has an ass. Also: breasts. Yes, breasts. Two in total. Nice tits.”
“You broke my heart. I’m crying, feeling blue. Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah. I have emotions.”
Blood is gushing from my ears as the auditive infection contaminates my brain.
I leave all my belongings behind and run towards the river. An older man with two broken ankles writing his will, signals that there’s a maze of rocks hidden underwater. All shapes and sizes, to provide people with injuries of all shapes and sizes.
I see three rascals that are semi-playfully fighting in the water and call them over. I ask them to form a human bridge over the rocks. In exchange I promise to teach them the rudest of cuss words in Dutch.
They happily accept and provide me with a safe passage to the rock free area. I thank the now deformed youngsters and teach them the Dutch translation of a few random vegetables, assuring them that these are the most offensive insults available.
After having educated the youth I put my head under water to drown out the noise for a second. The feeling of braincells reviving comforts me.
Upon returning from Atlantis I see a father driving a forklift truck into the river. He’s lifting his son on the boulder in the middle of said river. The kid weighs more than the colossal boulder he’s standing on. He jumps.
A nanosecond before the boy hits the water I hear the voice of Gandalf: “Fly, you fools.”
I swim-run for cover, but nature does with me as she pleases. A tsunami swallows me whole. Then, all turns dark.
I wake up next to my drenched towel. More profound lyrics start carving my eardrums, more fathers with forklift trucks start appearing.
I gather my things and head back to my apartment. Taking the hints that fate is giving me.
Picking up my notepad. Mono-colouring it with words that’ll eventually lead to liberation.
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I wrote a novel! It’s available on: https://www.amazon.com/Vic-Koopmans-ebook/dp/B0B6TC4WX9/ref=mp_s_a_1_1?crid=GWSYPFYSYYSU&keywords=vic+koopmans+head+first&qid=1658281167&sprefix=vic+koopmans+headfirst%2Caps%2C127&sr=8