Raindrops glisten and plop, falling off glossy leaves. My boots shuffle, the dirt loose under foot. The shovel rests against a slender sapling in silent vigil. A smooth grey rock, streaked with veins of pink and white, placed with care—a reminder. The peony weeps velvet blossoms. The air is still, heavy with damp. The clouds mourn, mixing with my tears. Plop, plop. I clasp the worn collar in my hands, the leash limp hangs by the back door. Good-bye.
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!