A Gray Sky Isn’t Much to Look At
(flash fiction)

I was waiting at the bus stop this morning to catch the R2. Car trouble led me there, plus the need to get to work.

I was looking at a dreary overcast, and it smelled as though rain was afoot. I had my umbrella on hand.

There was a man at the bus stop with dark shades and a walking stick waiting for the bus also.

It was nearing the bus' scheduled arrival time, but feeling a bit impatient, I asked the man if the bus was normally on time.

He greeted me and remarked that it smelled as though rain was on the way. I saw that he too had an umbrella on hand.

"Mr." he said in a firm yet not off-putting manner, "it's a hit or miss thing with the bus".

"Ah"! I said.

Sure enough, the time that the bus was supposed to arrive did not yield its fortuitous arrival, meanwhile, a light rain began to fall.

I wasted no time getting my rain gear over my head, casting, perhaps, an incidental glance skyward in the process.

However, the blind man paused, and looking up at the sky allowed rain drops to strike his face for a few moments before pulling his rain parachute open.

Noticing the lack of good cheer in the voices of those around him, the number of which was growing as more bus patrons were arriving at the stop, he asked me why everyone seemed so miserable.

I was a bit startled by the question, more so that it was directed at me. I was probably more miserable than anyone at the stop, too miserable to say much really.

So not knowing what to say, nor how to say it for risk of offending the man, i remained silent.

I closed my eyes to block out the distraction of forlorn faces, and the depressing sight of pandemic facewear. I blocked out the grumbling voices that had no kind remarks for the bus driver on this route; no cheerful thoughts about the day that loomed ahead. I swallowed also the disappointment that my searching eyes had spotted no eye candy to offset the gloom.

I simply listened to the rain, letting the gentle wooshing sound of it, sink into my skull.