Lonely Little Shelter

Written for and about a friend, by request

The wind whips through the dimly lit streets, touching the world along its way. Rain pours to the ground, saturating the buildings and the road, the trees and the grass. The collected refuse and litter from a long day float along streams of water that grow through and over the imperfections in the black asphalt and down the drains that line the street. The dusty walls are cleaned, grime dissolving in the face of the purifying water from above. A little bus stop sits on the side of the road, the only shelter in sight from the violent storm that has so suddenly swept into the area. The soft glow of the streetlights keeps the darkness at bay, the illumination falling in circular pools on the wet ground below. Inside the lonely little bus shelter sits a lonely little figure; her wet black clothes cling to her pearly white skin that seems to shine with luminosity in the cold night. She crosses her arms over her chest, a futile defence against the wind that invades her shelter, chilling her to the bone. The woman looks upwards; her hair falls from her face and settles around her shoulders, black as the midnight hour, reflecting a silvery light. The young lady’s soft lips are turned down ever so slightly in a melancholy expression, a symptom of the deep seated sadness within her. The dark make up around her striking hazel eyes has run with the drops of rain that traced their way down her cheeks, she looks as if she has been in tears. A single drop of water falls from the ceiling of the shelter, landing on her forehead and continues its descent, rolling down the bridge of her nose making its way to the slightly upturned tip where it resides for a brief moment before letting go and dropping into her shirt to be absorbed. She stands and begins to pace within the confines of her shelter, beneath her clothes the curves, lines and contours of her elegant form, from her smooth, slim legs to the outline of her perky breasts pushing out from her chest. She sits and tries to settle, impatient for the storm to pass so she can walk home without being drenched by the downpour, eager to escape the confines of the shelter. Her mobile chirps, signalling that a message has been received; she slides her dainty fingers in her pocket to retrieve the phone which she opens and reads the words on the screen. Her frown twitches ever so slightly before melting into a smile that changes her demeanour completely, her eyes sparkle with a true happiness that replaces the sorrow of a few moments ago. The subtle, secretive smile lights up her pale face, her inner warmth can no longer be hidden by dark clothes, she shines with a radiant beauty. Sadly, such things cannot last, the woman catches herself and her face returns to its previous position; a frown, her only armour against a cruel, pathetic world. She replies to the message and snaps her phone shut, then gazes into the torrent of water that gushes down the drain a few feet away. She leans back and closes her eyes, letting the tapping of rain on the shelter roof soothe her for a number of minutes. She returns her mind to the world to see beams from the headlights of a car turning the corner into the near empty street, the vehicle pulls up to the shelter and stops; the driver beckons the woman towards him and opens the passenger door. The woman recognises the man and waves to him before gathering her things and making her way to the nearby car. The quick dash from shelter to shelter leaves her coated with a new layer of rain, water collects at the ends of her long hair and drips onto the car seat with a soft patter. She doesn’t look back at the lonely little bus shelter before shutting the car door and being driven away. To her, sitting in that shelter was just another ordinary moment, another part in a day in the life. Cest la vie.