PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot
It was taking so long.
His uncle had instructed him to not leave the hall till he returned. He knew better than to defy the order.
He circled the room and looked at the paintings. He imagined conversations among sailors on the merchant ships, between soldiers on the frigates. He polished the marble counter with his sleeve. When he tired, he sat against a lamppost and pretended it was a smokestack.
The hall echoed emptiness.
He was getting cold. He was growing hungry. He needed to pee.
Only when night fell did he finally cry.
His uncle had sailed away.