Taxi after dark

A man sits waiting at the bus stop. His shirt is torn and a shoelace is untied. He has that lost look people get when they have lost everything held dear. Buses come and go, people walk past and never glance more than twice. Twilight descends around him and yet still he sits and waits. For what? Is there someone coming? I notice this from the cafe across the street. It's been hours and I am more interested in him with every hour that passes. Why does he just sit there like that? He must be hungry or thirsty. It's fascinating to watch. How the human body can adapt itself like that. Where did this man come from? Does he have somewhere to go? Maybe he's homeless, maybe he's crazy. Do I dare see if he's ok? My shift has finished. I make a coffee to go and make myself go across the street. "Excuse me sir, would you like a coffee? I've been watching you all day. Are you ok?" Thank you. I'm thirsty. He looks confused and lost so I ask him, "Do you have somewhere to go?" Yes, I live in that building over there. "Are you sure you're ok sir?" I finished work and was waiting for my wife to pick me up after work, but she was running late. "Did you call her? Maybe traffic is bad." There's no need. She died yesterday. And I forgot. The coffee went cold while we waited together. When it got too dark to see I called him a taxi. I never saw him again.

Old newspapers

A sign shifted on the door as it swung open, some meaningless drivel about family and love. The room behind it let off a musty, stale smell like old newspapers and mould. A pair of boots had been discarded by the stairs, dried mud flaked all over the entrance. The old house shifted as if recognising the visitor. Memories came back of happier times, when the world seemed too big to know and the future held dreams and so much to discover. Those dreams long since faded and replaced with a foreboding sense of eternal drudgery. Only so much could be achieved in these parts and expectations were low.

The mud crunched underfoot and the musty smell got worse further on down the hall. The door to the kitchen stood half open, as if left swinging while in a hurry. Pushing it open wafted the foul smell even more and the source of it was clearly the pile of garbage in the corner. "How long since anyone was here? Why was I never told?" The questions lingered like a bee sting, hovering in the still air like a father Christmas in the breeze.

"You never showed an interest before, why should you now?"

"They were my parents."

"They may as well have not had you for all you gave them."

"But they were my parents."

"And they hated themselves for it."