The Sliding of Doors
If only rush hour could be slowed.
Nine million they say, yet here you stand.
The doors are open, but the briefcases swarm as moths to a flame.
No room.
What to do?
Can’t stare- too obvious.
Can’t say something- that would be weird.
Can’t do anything but wait.
Standing by the yellow line, awkwardly aware of your reflection in the glass.
Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep.
With a hiss and a thud the doors seal, and any chance of interaction is snatched.
The train jolts and begins to screech its way out of the station, and you look into a pair of eyes staring back.
She smiles, and is gone.
About the Creator
Joe O’Connor
New Zealander living in London
Teacher of English and History, and sport-lover
Mostly short stories and poems📚
Feel free to be honest- one constructive comment beats a hundred generic ones
Currently writing James The Wonderer
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Water Trails
The wind whispers to itself, playing along the old boards of a lone farmhouse, seeking a gap to creep inside. Moonlight falls in muted beams, casting shadows long across the bikes and toys scattered through the yard. Reaching further, it moves into the fields of corn, long ears bowed and sorrowful. Finally, it pierces through the clouds to cover a solitary cross embedded in the dirt beneath a tree-swing, the white gleam chasing away the dark. Swaying in the breeze, the swing lies still, while the branches above stretch and scrape the milky sky.
By Joe O’Connorabout a year ago in Fiction
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This would have earned a sub from me, except I'm already subscribed to you 😁