Kreative Kue 294 asked for submissions based on this photograph:
“Where is our bus?”
“I don’t see it.”
“What are we going to do now?”
“I don’t have a clue. Maybe we can catch another.”
“I thought this was supposed to be a lunch break.”
“Yeah, me too. Looks like it was just a quick stop. I told you we should have gotten a translation book.”
“This rain isn’t going to make it any more comfortable.”
“The fact that I’ve grown webbing between my toes should tell us something.”
“Just joking. It’s been raining so much. I think we are going to need to tread water soon.”
“So, back to the bus. What should we do?”
“Hold on, I have the tour operator’s card here. Let me call them.”
“Oh, thank heavens. Yes, call them.”
“Hello. This is McGee calling. Bob McGee. We are stranded at a bus stop. How soon for the next bus? You’re kidding? Yeah, we know that now. Yes, sure, put us on that one. Isn’t there anything sooner? Okay then. Thanks. Bye.”
“So that didn’t sound good.”
“The next bus is tomorrow at this time.”
“Twenty four hours in this jungle outpost? There’s no place to sleep.”
“Well, we will just have to make due. The guy said we should never have gotten off the bus.”
“That makes me feel so much better knowing that. So what do you suggest?”
“What do you have in that bag?”
“My dirty red bandana and my harmonica.”
“Perfect. We are saved.”
“I’ll just thumb a diesel down before the next rain, and we’ll sing songs to the driver. We’ll sing every song the drive knows.”
“You sayin’ the windshield wipers will be slapping time?”
“Now, you’ve got it.”
“Gee, Bobby. It does sound good.”
“We are making memories, kiddo. The kind where you might want to trade all your tomorrows for a single yesterday.”
“You have such a way with words, Bobby. Put out that thumb, and let’s get going.”
Thanks to Mystery and SciFi author M.Garnet (website: mgarnet.com) for this short story
I stand here and watch the rain that now is slowing and leaving the air clean and the ground dirty mud. I can see a few people moving around, but I can’t join them. I am not of them as I am a killer, a predator and they are food.
It is important that I resist and not show my hunger and here under this roof in the darkness, my dark eyes can just hide and see but not be seen.
I have a choice, as I watch the few confused stranded travelers move around trying to decide if they can find a ride away from this wet and desolate place. I need for only one or two that get separated and alone.
I seem to be a female to those who look at me, harmless and not of any interest. That is part of my disguise. But my hunger is not great as I have had found one person who had wandered away. He was behind the buses and into the wet trees and heavy bushes during the rain. All hunched over as he relieved him self. But he was also full of drugs so I did not drink deeply, just enough to sate my first need.
Now I wait for another. I wonder if they will miss him. If they all leave, I will be left here in this damp forest to wait for the next group of buses. This is a dismal place.
Perhaps that young man there will go off by himself. Being alone is a curse. I wait here back under the roof out of the damp.
My effort was:
Rayne. Why did my parents have to give me that name? And, in the eternal game of post hoc ergo propter hoc, which is post and which propter?
Why am I asking that? Look outside. What’s it doing?
Exactly. It’s raining. It’s always raining. I can’t ever remember it not raining.
I know it wasn’t raining here yesterday or today, before I arrived. And before you ask: yes, I did bring the weather with me. Everywhere I go, I always bring the weather with me. That’s why I’m asking the question. Did they call me Rayne because the rain always follows me, or does the rain always follow me because I’m called Rayne?
It may very well be a philosophical question to you; you don’t have to live with it. Tell me: where do you like to go on holiday?
Okay, maybe you do prefer a different place each time, but what is the common element, the thread that ties them together? Altitude? Language? Architectu—
Of course, weather. Any particular kind of weather?
As I thought. Dry and sunny. Do you know where I go for my holidays?
Then I’ll tell you. I don’t. I never go anywhere on holiday.
Why not? Because I know it will rain. It always rains.
Isn’t it obvious? It rains because I’m there. Tell you what. Would you like me to come on holiday with you on year?
So you do believe me, then?
Okay, let’s hear your idea.
You know what? You might just have something there.
I’ve heard that, too. Have you noticed that they pray earnestly for rain, but how many of them believe in the power of their prayers to the extent that they take a brolly with them?
Precisely. So now—
Exactly. And I’ll bet they’d pay me to visit them for a few days, wouldn’t they?
On to this week’s challenge: Using this photo as inspiration, write a short story, flash fiction, scene, poem; anything, really; even just a caption for the photograph. Either put it (or a link to it) in a comment or email it to me at firstname.lastname@example.org before 6pm next Sunday (if you aren’t sure what the time is where I live, this link will tell you). If you post it on your own blog or site, a link to this page would be appreciated, but please do also mention it in a comment here.
Go on. You know you want to. Let your creativity and imagination soar. I shall display the entries next Monday.