Juxtaposition - (my first attempt at Flash Fiction)

Andy feels a familiar pleasure at the end of his run. The sun is setting warm on his back, wicking up some of the sweat molecules from the Ferrari red t-shirt as he leans against the wall and stretches. He feels his muscles respond. Across the lake the French Alps do their amazing colour changing show. Today somehow reminds him of his first run between Lutry and Ouchy back in 2003.

Determined not to get caught up in the jet lag theory he’d laced up his ASIC’s before he had even unpacked his bags. Then instinctively found his way down to  Lake Geneva. The path beside the lake made the perfect medium for touching base with an unfamiliar environment.
The distinctive smell of the lake after an indian summer’s day may have been the catalyst for that distant memory. Or was it influenced by the woman sitting on the green bench seat to his left. There was a woman sitting on that seat on the first day as well. A very forward german woman, reading a book. Her name was Katerina. As he’d stretched she’d called out, ‘You look pretty fit for a middle aged American.’

He remembered blurting out loud. ‘Oh my God! I’ve only been in this country ten minutes and I’ve been found out. How’d you know I was an American?’ 
‘That New York Yankees baseball cap. Only Americans would dare wear one en Suisse.’ She’d smiled sweetly
After that introduction they talked and laughed until the twilight squeezed its belly over the rim of the Jura mountains. He loved Switzerland already.
Reaching back for his right foot Andy wonders where Katerina might be now. He’d enjoyed their wild at heart encounters. His attention quickly jumps to a flash of red near the water’s surface below him and his inquisitive nature takes over and wins. He reaches down and plunges his hand into the coolness. 
Just as he’d suspected. ‘Victorinox.’ One of Switzerland’s most recognizable exports.  ‘Good looking knife.’ He thinks. ‘Looks like that new Trekker series.’
With the pocket knife captured he walks up to Katerina’s now empty bench seat. Sitting, he continuously turns the knife over in his hand and head, puzzling as to its journey to the water’s edge, but misses the biggest clue. If he’d kept his mind off the sweet memories of Katerina he may have thought to open the long blade where the bright blood and DNA stains were encrypted. 
Mesmerized, daydreaming in the warmth of his first Swiss lover, he fails to sense the movement behind him. And in that fateful lapse, bloodied arms urgently grip his neck and snatch back the knife to ensure that today’s run was his last.


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