Brock and Ms. Moonshine
On the moonlit road, I held my umbrella trying to stay as dry as I could get. Ironically, the lady who bumped my shoulder didn’t seem to have the same intentions. The rain started to recede and I could feel the weightless droplets fall on her messy hair.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t see you coming.” She excused, pointing above towards darkness. It took me a while to realize it was a streetlight. I couldn’t see her. Except for the smooth edges of her face that faintly reflected the moon’s light. But I swear she was pretty. Her voice vibrantly screamed her prettiness.
“It’s okay. Catch your breath, don’t rush so much.” I stumbled, strangers weren’t my favorite people to communicate with.
“Yes, thank you for caring about me so much. I wonder what a stupid job they’re doing at keeping up with the weather, I mean, how can they let a blackout stay for so long. Especially at this odd hour.” Somehow, she broke the ice.
Unlike everyone, I opened up to her my rants and complaints about the lack of attention our local authorities show towards such petty issues which rise up to create greater ones.
“Oh, I so hate our train systems!” I wanted to say “Me too.” but I just stood there. Her voice mesmerized me to an extent where I forgot about the merciless day I had at office and also how the ruthless rains helped to perfectly mess up my Monday.
“It’s getting late.” She was smiling, I could hear it in her words.
“Wait, tell me your name, at least.” I shook my head and found my senses again.
“I like to be called Ms. Moonshine.”
“That’s a nice— Oh, look power’s back!” I cheered as the street lamp illuminated the street but there was no one around.
©The Honest Fabler
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