Waiting in the Rain (Flash Fiction)

Hello, friends!

It’s been a long time. I promised a piece of writing and here it is. I should (*coughs*) be using this more in the coming months (HINT: pack your bags for a trip to Devon).

It isn’t going into a university portfolio or entered into a competition because, quite frankly, it isn't good enough. It’s just a bit of fun. I started it in a seminar the other day and, with a bit of editing, I have managed to make a presentable piece out of it. It’s only a short one but I'm happy with it like that.

It’s not written in my usual tone or style but I wanted to try something different…

Waiting in the Rain

A country lane. It’s always on a country lane, always dark and always raining. This is where the stories start. A woman, it’s usually a woman and I don’t know why, is sitting in her clapped out car. Waiting. Waiting for a midnight rendezvous or something. Then, from out of the woods, a mad axe man or a mental farmer with a shot gun comes along and turns her into soup. And she screams. Oh boy does she scream. Maybe that’s why it’s a woman. Well, I am not a woman. I am a man. And cannibals don’t like men. At least, not according to ITV.

It’s been half an hour since I phoned. The lights keep flashing past. Each time I hope and each time I get let down.  I should go out again but I’ve already ruined the shoes and I don’t want to ruin the trousers. I’ll just wait, sit here and wait. And ignore the imaginary man who keeps peeking out of the bushes.