I stand inconspicuously on platform one at Central station, eyeing the passengers heading to the escalator. I am anxious, time is running out. I’m searching for a woman. Not a particular one, just a type. A woman in her twenties: slim, waif-like for preference. That’s not so easy these days when everyone’s so fat. And, she must be alone.
I have her in my sights. Her movement is graceful yet purposeful. I don’t see her face but admire her silky, shoulder-length locks in a warm chestnut hue accented with natural sun-kissed highlights.
She wears a tailored, lightweight trench coat in a classic camel tone with slim, dark denim jeans and polished ankle boots, laced just right. A subtle accessory – a patterned scarf loosely tied around her neck – adds a splash of color and a hint of personal flair.
I creep behind her; watching closely. As she makes her way toward the escalator, she exudes a sense of calm determination amid the rhythmic hum of commuter chatter and the gentle clatter of footsteps.
We reach the station concourse and I fight against crowds to keep her in my sight. I wonder who she is, where does she live, where does she work? Does she have a boyfriend?
She quickens her pace; has she sensed me watching her? She jumps on a bus and is gone. Available now only in my imagination.
I slip into a coffeeshop, powerup my laptop and start tapping. The deadline for my creative writing assignment is 7PM.
Words: Richard Rooney
Illustration: A.I.
Flash Fiction 250
Flash Fiction 250 