 |
 |
 |
| |
Cold Shoulder (Wee Stories #13)
The bus smelled like tar and spoiled milk. He was holding his breath when he first saw her. She was like a firefly, a speck of grace, floating up the steps. The driver bellowed, but it didn’t faze her, nor did the flying spitballs.
“What’s your name?” he shouted as she swished past, silent.
Her ears were tiny plastic machines.
Want to comment on this Flash Fiction?
Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Flash Fiction and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...
|
 |
|
[Back to top]
|
|
|
|
Cool read. Glad I don't have to teach school or take the bus anywhere, anymore.
This piece reinforced my reasons why I said the above. |
 |
Comment by: - 2007-09-29 15:23
|
|
| Oh, wow ... what a great ending. My dad wears those tiny plastic machines.... No wonder she didn't hear the driver ... ;0) |
|
|
| Thanks, Arley! |
 |
Comment by: Arley - 2007-09-27 08:53
|
|
| Makes me wonder if she ignored the driver on purpose or just didn't hear him. Either way, well done! |
|
|
| Jim, Mary, John, Karen, Crystal: Thanks for your feedback. |
| 1 2 Next |
|
 |
|
 |
|
|
