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Lonely Lonely
by Asa Butcher
2006-07-18 16:07:55
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Not a single car has stopped in all the hours I have been standing at the side of the road. I don’t know the precise time I have patiently waited for a Good Samaritan to pull over and offer me some help.

My father used to say that patience comes to those who wait, but I never understood what he meant. I have wanted to ask him many things, but he is gone. He disappeared just after I was born. Mum said that he had been kidnapped and was still alive somewhere, but, come on Mum, nobody would believe a story like that. Mum misses him. I miss him, especially now I am stuck at the side of the road.

Another car is coming. The headlights are on full beam, what a jerk. I hope he doesn’t stop to help. I don’t want to be associated with an inconsiderate driver like that. Bastard! He didn’t even slow down. I guess the era of offering your fellow man a hand is dead. Every man for himself, push the women and children out of the way, no time for sentimentalities, no time for anything any more.

Look at that. It has started to rain. What is it with this country? Lost, alone, cold and it starts to rain, somebody has a sick sense of humour. At least my red plastic mac will keep me dry. Red, who has a bright red coat? Canadian Mounties do, but I end up looking like Little Red Riding Hood instead. Why does Mum have such a thing for family hand me downs? Shouldn’t complain, it is keeping me dry.

It is so quiet out here. Just the sound of the rain landing upon the plastic of my coat and that is in surround sound. Rain, strain, brain, drain, Lois Lane, what’s the capital of the Ukraine? UK rain, that’s funny. I must remember that and tell it to Mum when I get home. If I do ever get home. Here comes another vehicle.

Good to see the driver is tailoring his driving according to the weather conditions – fast but with windscreen wipers on. Sunny? Fast with sunglasses on. Foggy? Fast with fog lamp on. What idiot gave him a driving licence? Is it a him? Couldn’t see through the tsunami of water their wheels just threw over me, so much for my sturdy red plastic jacket.

We have a saying from where I come from, “Shit!” I am so miserable. Why isn’t anybody missing me? They should have realised I am not there by now. Perhaps I should try to move closer to the road, but I am stuck. If only I had a mobile phone, but the problem with being a traffic cone is that you don’t have fingers with which to dial.


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