Waiting for the bus – Flash Fiction

Len leaned against the old stone wall for support and to get himself out of the blast of fierce wind. He was waiting for the bus to arrive. A shadow came over its face. He looked up to see someone in a cloak. Over his shoulder rest of the outline of an old-fashioned scythe. Before mortal or myth could speak, the bus pulled up and the doors slid silently open. Len reached for the handle and pulled himself aboard. There was a seat with his name on it and as he sat down he noticed the scythe resting on the windscreen.

George Scott

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