If this sounds familiar, good. It should. It's a different take on the same story. A completely different take, actually.
Lessons learnt: Second person is a bugger to write in.
Waiting in the Rain II
You feel the branches scratch at the windows, like nails
dragged along a chalkboard. The wind whispers under the floor and the rain
pelts down on the roof. There’s a dull red light from the maintenance panel.
The battery’s dead. And there is nothing you can do but wait.
And so you do.
The moonlight casts shadows on the wet road and your mind
plays tricks, making shapes you know can’t be there. You could go outside but
you dare not. You’re safer inside, with the doors locked and the windows slowly
steaming up. The heaters are still out, remember. Rub your hands together and
pull your collar up around your neck. You regret not bringing a flask but you
never thought that you would need one. It was just an ordinary drive home. That
same ordinary drive you’ve done a thousand times. But this time you’re stuck.
Alone and hungry and feeling the coldness creeping in, stinging your fingers
tips. You’ll start to taste the cold soon.
Try the engine again.
You know it won’t work. It didn’t turn over last time and it
won’t turn over this. But you still have hope. And why shouldn’t you? You have
nothing else left. The thunder doesn’t help. Nor do the lights of passing cars.
They must see you. They must. And yet they ignore you. Or, if you are
acknowledged, you’re forgotten shortly after. You may even be the subject of a
brief dinner time conversation. “I saw a poor bugger stuck out in the rain,”
they’ll say.
It’s been twenty minutes since you called. And then your
phone battery ran out. What if they’re trying to get through to you? That last light
is flickering now. It’s about to go out.
