When we used to sit out there as children, holding our makeshift rods without a thought in the world, we felt like it was the greatest thing in the world.
As we grew up, we kept coming back to that place, every summer we were there.
Spending our days fishing and drinking.
Over the years people began to stop coming. Some got older and didn’t enjoy it anymore. Some had families and obligations that stopped them from coming.
And a few ended up dead.
That was the way of life.
The way that we lived. And we had gotten used to people disappearing.
That was how we had grown up.
So when we were older, and people stopped coming back we knew they weren’t coming back.
But sitting out there as children we didn’t know all these things. We were still innocent and didn’t know what the future held for us.
The only thing we knew was that the fishing was a way for us to escape.
Escape from our parents and school.
That was the only thing we cared about.
That was the only thing we knew.
And I wish we had never grown up.
Because then we would all still be there every summer. Together.
And I wouldn’t have to visit my friend’s graves.
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Categories: flash fiction