Carlos Llanos Writing

Still, I Wait

There I sat, waiting alone, with the sun beaming down on me. The air was thick and itchy.

Behind me, a darkness crept across the sky. A storm was coming.

A sudden downpour broke the stillness, sending people scrambling for shelter. I did not move.

The rain stopped as quickly as it had started, but the clouds remained unmoved. I watched as small critters hid from the storm — lizards vanished into cracks, squirrels disappeared without a sound.

Still I waited, alone again, in the cold damp air.

The world quieted, it seemed as if time stood still holding its breath.

Then, a burst of light flashed down in front of me. I inhaled, and just as my lungs filled, the sky exploded. A booming crack split the air around me. I did not move.

The rain returned heavier this time. Droplets danced on the ground, sparkling like scattered diamonds.

I sat and waited.

The downpour intensified. Winds pushed the rain sideways, skewing the world at a strange angle.

In the distance, I saw a woman, older than me, running through the storm. She moved with purpose, cutting through the chaos with practiced resolve. I followed her with my eyes, almost envious of her grit.

An old coat clung to her shoulders as she held it over her head. Rain soaked it quickly, weighing her down. Her steps slowed. She looked off balance.

Come on, I thought. You can make it.

She disappeared behind some bushes, and I lost sight of her. I don’t know if she made it.

The rain kept falling. Another flash of light tore across the sky, and I glanced down at the time.

Then came the thunder — loud, full, certain. A punctuation mark at the end of the storm.

Soon, the sky began to clear. The sun pressed forward scattering the clouds, warming the world.

The stale cold lifted.

Critters peeked out from their hiding places, one by one. Life returned in cautious little steps.

I sighed.

“Where the hell is this bus?”