After 30 minutes of stillness inside this steaming, stinky bus, I promised myself I won’t ride an ordinary bus again. I almost went off until I hear someone quietly sobbing.
The man beside me, a construction worker (I think) wearing dirty green chinos and old faded jeans silently cries as he clutches a plastic bag with his tired-looking hands.
I resisted asking him.
Five minutes passed…
I give up.
“Are you hungry? I have some biscuits here.”
He shakes his head.
I resisted talking.
But he suddenly speaks again.
“Today is my son’s seventh birthday.”
“We never celebrated birthdays.”
“We have no money.”
“But for the first time I was able to save enough to buy his dream ice cream.”
“Our house’s only 10 minutes away.”
“But in this traffic… my son’s ice cream is now turning into a soup.”
His eyes quietly welled up again.
Now so do mine.
Word count: 150
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo credit: Ellespeth’s friend
IMPORTANT NOTE: This story is inspired by a real incident I read on Facebook last year.
In response to Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (FFfAW) February 23, 2016.
- a flash fiction challenge (stories in 100-175 words or less)
- each story should have a beginning, a middle, and an end
- no serial (continuation) stories
- include a pingback to the challenge post
Thank you for a thought-provoking photo prompt, Priceless Joy! ❤