Kyle's POV
I hail a cab, soaking, standing on the pavement. My hair falls flat, plastered against my cheek and shoulders.
The clothes I was wearing stick like glue to my figure, outlining it in the blue-shirt and black trousers.
He draws up and I get in, apologising for being such a mess.
The taxi driver drives on the dark tarmac streets, through the maze of dark buildings only illuminated by city lights.
I hold myself back from cussing at the taxi driver, because I guess it's not his fault there's so much traffic in the desolate rain.
"Please," I say. "Is there a faster way?"
The driver looks at the rearview mirror back at me.
"No, sorry son," he says. "What happened? Why ya going to the hospital? Mother? Father? Sibling? Both? Relative?"
"No," I say shaking my head. I can't help crying. She, she, she might be gone now. And it's probably my fault. "A friend. A friend that I loved."
He gives me a knowing sympathetic look as the lights turn green and he drives as fast as possible through the blurry city, blurred through tears and rain.
YOU ARE READING
melancholia ✔︎
Short Storyall i need is a reason to live. a reason to keep living in this hell you call life. because melancholia is just too hard to control all alone.
