She was tall and slender, enough to tower over most men, but she looked so fragile. Her legs reminded him of a spider and her hair was always frazzled.
He never saw where she came from, she would just appear by the roadside, looking up the street. Like she was waiting for a bus she never expected to come.
He’d invited her to wait inside a few times. She always declined.
Why would someone wait for four hours for a bus in the snow?
Ambiguous though many of my endings are, I do like to have a start, finish and end to my stories. This wasn’t so much a story but a start of a story that never fully formed in my head back in the Blue Moons heyday. The scene stuck in my head though. A lady who looked like a breath of wind would knock her over, waiting at a bus stop for a ride that would never come.
Also, dicking about with effects on a video. This was set to 100% and won’t be staying at 100%. But it’s an interesting effect. Just thought it would give my daily tales a little more visual thingy.
The effort of climbing the short flight of stairs made it wheeze and cough. It seemed more geriatric than terrifying. Years of comics and movies had changed the human mind’s perspective. He was not prepared for how vulnerable it appeared. He stepped back, into arms. Turning his head to see eight more behind him.