Inquisitive Angel (Part one)
Seven Fifteen in the evening and she sat there on the bench alone, the street was quiet other than the occasional car that would go by and then vanish off into the distance as she waited and waited for the bus to arrive and her frustration grew every time she looked at the time table at the stop and wondered why it had not arrived yet and still she waited.
it was a quiet little town by most big city people's standards, a few lights along the small road made up the town centre and this was the only bus stop that she knew of after a quick search on her phone.
Well, that was while it still worked, now it was a useless piece of overpriced plastic in her hand since the battery had died after putting it on charge but not switching the socket on.
it was a mistake she had berated herself about several times since she watched the low battery sign appear on the screen but it just shut down and faded to black, she sighed at the thought of being cut off from the world of the internet.
Everything was at her fingertips and even if she did not need the phone to find out something important, she could have easily just browsed through the social media aspects that the internet provided, just not today.
The longer she sat and waited, the more it made her wonder what the hell was she doing, that sense of wanderlust that come over her and the urge to get out into the world and experience things was just crazy.
Hell, she would be forty-Three soon and should be back at her job and doing all that adult stuff that she should have grown into and not be out here behaving as if the world owes her something it did not.
But hell no, she had been bitten by the writer's bug and now she needed to be out in the world and not stuck in some job that she took no satisfaction or inspiration from, even if it did provide that important thing called a pay cheque.
Yes, she would conquer the world and find the inspiration for her first great novel and then go from strength to strength, the difference between that and the reality was she now sat on a bus bench in a one-horse town at Seven Sixteen in the evening and waiting for a bus that seemed like it would never come.
She turned her head and looked up and down the street once and still could see neither people nor that damn bus she so desperately wanted to arrive so she could at least get moving forward than sit here.
Maybe she could call someone, after all, they were supposed to show up every 15 minutes and at last count, she knew she had been here for over thirty-seven minutes and that number did not seem like it would change for the better anytime soon.
Fishing the phone from her pocket, it seemed that reality had not somehow changed but the phone screen was black and the phone was still out of power, she cursed softly as she placed the phone back in her pocket not wanting to look at it.
Maybe a creative escape she thought to herself and found her hand already reaching down for her bag at her feet, the top of the backpack coming open as she tried to compose her thoughts and turn this rather negative moment into something a little better.
Her hand rummaged inside the backpack until she found the familiar shape of the writing pad she was searching for and a moment later she had the pad open on her lap and was pulling a pen from her inside pocket.
She looked down at the empty page of the notebook and began to thumb through the pages and counted far too many empty ones, more than there should have been since her adventure had started.
She placed the pen against the top of the page and waited for the magic to happen and waited and then waited a little longer, her brain just seemed to spin over and over like a computer stuck performing a task.
She stared at the page until she felt like she was going to go cross-eyed. the pen made slight scratch marks against the page but no words came.
The exercise was as frustrating as waiting for the bus, the bus that would take her out of this town and to the flea pit motel she had procured for herself, this part of her great American adventure continued with a stumble and not the mad dash out of the gate that she had expected to happen.
Her frustration now getting the better of her she slammed the book closed and let out a long sigh of annoyance and dropped the book on the bench beside her and let out a loud growl followed by
"Damn it"
Her hand came down and crashed into the notebook as it lay flat against the bench, her temper boiling over to this point and the strike made her feel a touch better and glad no one was around to see her outburst.
"Now what did that book ever do to you?"
The voice came from the right of where she was sitting and she felt her face flush red with embarrassment. she turned her head slowly not knowing what to expect and she then saw him standing there.
He was a tall male with short-cropped hair that was dark black and seemed to shimmer under the street lights, something she assumed was from some sort of hair product he must have used.
"Jumping hell"
She exclaimed seeing him sitting there, he was standing on the other bus shelter bench, well what had been a bench at one time.
it was made up of four horizontal pieces of wood that at one time would have allowed three people to sit, but now it was mostly destroyed other than the one long central section and a short half piece that made up the rest of it.
He appeared to be balancing on the bench remains with one foot on it and the other leg swinging back and forth in the blue jeans he wore, she could have sworn he was not there when she had looked around before, several times at that. so where did he come from?
"So, what did that book ever do to you then?"
He asked again, his voice clearer this time but she still could not place his accent, it was not American but where it came from was a mystery to her ears.
"It's my focus of frustration"
She snapped back, an edge of annoyance in her voice as she lifted the book from the bench and placed it back into the backpack she had pulled it out of.
"So, that frustration, is it sated now or not?"
He asked in response and seemed unfazed by the tone of her response.
"What?"
She snapped back once more and her voice was now showing the beginnings of real anger. a combination of her frustration and this man's sudden appearance and intrusive nature.
"You're not frustrated anymore"
He said as he suddenly jumped down from the bench and turned in a half motion before he landed on his feet and he turned his head to look up and then down the street.
"What?"
She asked as she watched him move from the bench down to the ground as she puzzled over his statement before having to ask.
"You put your book away, so I guess you're not frustrated no more"
he said as he finished checking the street and looked back to where she was sitting and then spoke again before she could formalise her thoughts beyond taking in the answer to her question.
"So, you are a Journalist?"
it was a quiet little town by most big city people's standards, a few lights along the small road made up the town centre and this was the only bus stop that she knew of after a quick search on her phone.
Well, that was while it still worked, now it was a useless piece of overpriced plastic in her hand since the battery had died after putting it on charge but not switching the socket on.
it was a mistake she had berated herself about several times since she watched the low battery sign appear on the screen but it just shut down and faded to black, she sighed at the thought of being cut off from the world of the internet.
Everything was at her fingertips and even if she did not need the phone to find out something important, she could have easily just browsed through the social media aspects that the internet provided, just not today.
The longer she sat and waited, the more it made her wonder what the hell was she doing, that sense of wanderlust that come over her and the urge to get out into the world and experience things was just crazy.
Hell, she would be forty-Three soon and should be back at her job and doing all that adult stuff that she should have grown into and not be out here behaving as if the world owes her something it did not.
But hell no, she had been bitten by the writer's bug and now she needed to be out in the world and not stuck in some job that she took no satisfaction or inspiration from, even if it did provide that important thing called a pay cheque.
Yes, she would conquer the world and find the inspiration for her first great novel and then go from strength to strength, the difference between that and the reality was she now sat on a bus bench in a one-horse town at Seven Sixteen in the evening and waiting for a bus that seemed like it would never come.
She turned her head and looked up and down the street once and still could see neither people nor that damn bus she so desperately wanted to arrive so she could at least get moving forward than sit here.
Maybe she could call someone, after all, they were supposed to show up every 15 minutes and at last count, she knew she had been here for over thirty-seven minutes and that number did not seem like it would change for the better anytime soon.
Fishing the phone from her pocket, it seemed that reality had not somehow changed but the phone screen was black and the phone was still out of power, she cursed softly as she placed the phone back in her pocket not wanting to look at it.
Maybe a creative escape she thought to herself and found her hand already reaching down for her bag at her feet, the top of the backpack coming open as she tried to compose her thoughts and turn this rather negative moment into something a little better.
Her hand rummaged inside the backpack until she found the familiar shape of the writing pad she was searching for and a moment later she had the pad open on her lap and was pulling a pen from her inside pocket.
She looked down at the empty page of the notebook and began to thumb through the pages and counted far too many empty ones, more than there should have been since her adventure had started.
She placed the pen against the top of the page and waited for the magic to happen and waited and then waited a little longer, her brain just seemed to spin over and over like a computer stuck performing a task.
She stared at the page until she felt like she was going to go cross-eyed. the pen made slight scratch marks against the page but no words came.
The exercise was as frustrating as waiting for the bus, the bus that would take her out of this town and to the flea pit motel she had procured for herself, this part of her great American adventure continued with a stumble and not the mad dash out of the gate that she had expected to happen.
Her frustration now getting the better of her she slammed the book closed and let out a long sigh of annoyance and dropped the book on the bench beside her and let out a loud growl followed by
"Damn it"
Her hand came down and crashed into the notebook as it lay flat against the bench, her temper boiling over to this point and the strike made her feel a touch better and glad no one was around to see her outburst.
"Now what did that book ever do to you?"
The voice came from the right of where she was sitting and she felt her face flush red with embarrassment. she turned her head slowly not knowing what to expect and she then saw him standing there.
He was a tall male with short-cropped hair that was dark black and seemed to shimmer under the street lights, something she assumed was from some sort of hair product he must have used.
"Jumping hell"
She exclaimed seeing him sitting there, he was standing on the other bus shelter bench, well what had been a bench at one time.
it was made up of four horizontal pieces of wood that at one time would have allowed three people to sit, but now it was mostly destroyed other than the one long central section and a short half piece that made up the rest of it.
He appeared to be balancing on the bench remains with one foot on it and the other leg swinging back and forth in the blue jeans he wore, she could have sworn he was not there when she had looked around before, several times at that. so where did he come from?
"So, what did that book ever do to you then?"
He asked again, his voice clearer this time but she still could not place his accent, it was not American but where it came from was a mystery to her ears.
"It's my focus of frustration"
She snapped back, an edge of annoyance in her voice as she lifted the book from the bench and placed it back into the backpack she had pulled it out of.
"So, that frustration, is it sated now or not?"
He asked in response and seemed unfazed by the tone of her response.
"What?"
She snapped back once more and her voice was now showing the beginnings of real anger. a combination of her frustration and this man's sudden appearance and intrusive nature.
"You're not frustrated anymore"
He said as he suddenly jumped down from the bench and turned in a half motion before he landed on his feet and he turned his head to look up and then down the street.
"What?"
She asked as she watched him move from the bench down to the ground as she puzzled over his statement before having to ask.
"You put your book away, so I guess you're not frustrated no more"
he said as he finished checking the street and looked back to where she was sitting and then spoke again before she could formalise her thoughts beyond taking in the answer to her question.
"So, you are a Journalist?"
