Blogging · challenge · Fiction · November Notes · poetry · stories

When the clouds are sleeping…

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The rain was pouring hard and she had found shelter in the nearest bust stop before getting completely soaked.

Sitting on the bench, she leaned on the glass pannel, and started watching the people around her. It was a busy street, even at this time of the night. Cars driving fast, taxis looking for a potential customer… Pedestrians running to (or from) one of the many restaurants, bars and night clubs of the neighbourhood, in the strong rain shower.

She was numb, and she wished it was from getting high. She felt as if time had nearly stopped, just not quite. She could distinguish every water drop slipping down the glassed shelter, and the sounds of the city were strangely distorted. Music oozed from the nearby pubs, but it had an oddly slow beat.

It was only in her head, she knew that. She wondered if she would ever feel the same again. Probably not.

Truth was, time was ticking now for her, and it seemed that she could hear the tic-toc of time running out. It was scary.

Men and women walked her by, and she hated them. All of them. No exception. She despised all the Yolo and Carpe Diem adepts, and even more those who didn’t care about that kind of shit. People just didn’t know the value of time.

She wondered what she should do from there… Go back to her sorry less than middle-class apartment and dig into a pint of Haagen Dasz, or go to the bank just across the street, withdraw what little cash she had in her savings’ account, and hop in a cab asking to take her to the airport to fly to anywhere worth discovering?

Anywhere she hadn’t been, would be worth visiting, now. She wished she had realized that earlier.

Her fingers tingled from the cold. Curiously, she enjoyed it. It meant she was alive, and somewhat normal. For now.

She still could hear his voice. She wanted to phase him out, but she just couldn’t.

”Two months… Max.”

Of course, this wasn’t personal. Dr Wilkinson couldn’t get emotional everytime he had bad news to deliver. Still, she would have expected her death sentence to seem less generic.

Tic… Toc….

She noticed that the rain had stopped.

Even the clouds were now sleeping. She doubted she could ever, again.

 

 

#NovemberNotes2019 – The Clouds Are Sleeping by The Abbazi Brothers


 

In response to November Notes Writing Challenge by  Sarah Doughty of Heartstring 

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