Luggage shuffled along the ground, edges grating on the concrete platform. Couples laughing and talking—a constant hum in the background.
The fog had burned off the land. Only a hazy memory silhouetted the grey shadows of the forest beyond the station.
My palms were moist, and I wiped them again, pretending to smooth down the soft velour of my yellow dress.
I lifted sleepless eyes to the large clock overhead, roman numerals black against a worn circle. The heavy hand moved. A minute closer. I could almost hear the click as it inched nearer to eight.
I gazed down the empty tracks. People clustered near the edge, craning to look. We all waited.
Was that steam ahead? I stood, my heart pounding in my chest, each beat a second of the clock.
Anticipation rose in the air around me.
A distant bell. It’s clang striking my stomach, a deep resonance in my soul.
The bell grew louder. Steam puffed in the air.
He was coming.
This was my response to a writing prompt at a workshop I recently attended … perhaps there’s a story in here somewhere. Who is she? Who is the man she’s waiting for? I may have to finish the tale to find out!