Late
A short story I wrote between my writing The Lark's Last Voyage. Just gotta take a break from something once in a while, eh?
Please give me your opinoin, it's how I get better :)
The man just got off the bus into the darkness and rain. He was wearing jeans and an overly large hunting jacket with the hood up. It was so big that it covered his eyes. One of his hands was in his pocket, holding onto his good luck charm. It has never let him down yet.
He turned around and started running. He only had a few minutes to get to the building so he started sprinting. It seemed like each step he took landed in one of the asphalt’s many lakes, soaking through his shoes and the lower part of his jeans in seconds. He didn’t care though; he was more concerned about getting to the building before it was too late.
As he ran across the empty asphalt and grass, he didn’t see another living soul. The only illumination he received was from the lightning cracking across the sky.
He was panting when the building came into view. Scaffolding covered the entire outside of it, because half of it was condemned. He checked his cell phone for the time without stopping and swore when the glow revealed the information. As he reached the doors, with the building towering over his mortal frame, he ran inside.
He didn’t hesitate to take the slippery stairs three at a time as he climbed the stories. When he got to the room he was looking for, the door was already open. He slowly entered the room and was greeted by hundreds of bodies filling the seats of the hall. Most had their heads facing the floor, but some were looking straight at where the man had entered.
The man was late.
He walked up to the woman at the front of the hall and just stared at her. She had a cool expression on her face as she gave him some papers stapled together. He looked down at them and then back up at the woman.
“You’re late,” she said.
“Yeah, I am,” said the man.
“Hurry up,” she replied. “You only have 40 minutes to do the exam.”
