The rain continued, loud and inescapable.
Closing her eyes, Bertie sank her head deeper into her shoulders, the jacket’s damp collar cold against her cheeks.
She checked the bus schedule again, the tiny black numbers half obscured by condensation collecting inside the plastic casing.
Six minutes.
She pulled her phone out, glanced at the dark screen, then put it back.
Light swamped the shelter and her chest tightened.
It was the bus.
She rose, tried to breath as the doors opened.
Two people climbed out, one nodded the other didn’t.
Bertie sank down again.
She’d wait.
Perhaps the next one.
Photo Prompt Copy write – Shaktiki Sharma
Waiting is such a powerful theme
Thank you. It’s turned up a lot in my short stories.
Lovely descriptions in this.
Dear Carol,
The title put me in mind of Snoopy at his typewriter. Ominous and well written story. I felt a bit of a chill myself.
Shalom and Happy New Year,
Rochelle
I was only ever ‘stood-up’ once. You’ve rekindled that moment Carol. Well done.
Your story makes me wonder who she’s waiting for. And why. Kudos
I hope that she does not have to wait to long. But I do wonder what she is waiting for.
Makes me wonder why she didn’t get on the bus. Good suspense!