Waiting for Sam

Friday Fictioneers’ photo prompt © Roger Bultot


He’ll meet her at the exhibition at Noon, he’d promised.

“You’ll see. Twelve on the dot.”

“Like Cinderella?” she had joked.

“Sort of.”

She scanned the crowds, the balconies, the empty domes that rose above like marble skies.

Laughter echoed. People milled around.

She checked her watch again.

It had inched, traitorous, well past twelve o’clock.

Like Cinderella with no fairy godmother, she thought.

Never should have eaten that pumpkin Sam had bought.




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