Another entry done. Yes, it’s on the late side, but it’s still Tuesday, so I’m good. I actually really like this one… I might have to play with it more at a later date.
C is for Cloudburst
Whitney cursed and pulled at the collar of her coat as thunder cracked overhead. She was already late to her interview and the slight morning overcast had turned dark and rain was starting to fall.
“Dammit! My hair!” She scanned the street, but this wasn’t the kind of neighborhood where she’d be likely to get a taxi. She should have known better when she’d been sent the address… definitely not the high-rent part of town. It didn’t seem like the kind of place where someone would hire a personal assistant, but you never really knew these days. Besides, she really needed the job.
On a normal day, the walk from the transit station would not have been an issue. Today it was turning into a disaster. Of all days for the channel 6 weather bimbo to have been so completely wrong. It was almost like this storm had magically appeared out of nowhere.
When the raindrops got so big they hurt when they hit her, Whitney decided to give up. She saw neon on the next corner and decided to duck into whatever that store was and make a call to reschedule the interview. “He’ll understand. He has to.” She was trying to convince herself as she ran for shelter.
Tugging at the door, though, was no use. The lights were on, but the door was locked tight.
“Hello? Anyone there?” She slapped her hand on the glass of the convenience store and rattled the door again, but it was no use. “I thought you guys never closed these places!”
She huffed in frustration and continued down the street. Maybe the next block would have somewhere she could shelter.
Ten minutes later, Whitney was feeling like a drowned fish. She figured that was worse than a drowned rat since fish lived in this stuff. If a fish drowned it was pretty certain that something had gone terribly, horribly wrong.
It wasn’t even that she minded the rain so much. Sure, it was doing a number on the wool coat she’d worn in lieu of her every day, hot-pink jacket. And, of course, the time she’d spent on her hair and makeup were now a complete waste. Mostly, though, she was sure she’d lost the chance at the job because of the rain.
Whitney looked at the street sign and realized that the address should be on the next block. 6433 Columbus, number 215. Except the next block was a city park. No office building. No walkup. Just a couple of benches and a fountain under the trees.
She walked all the way around the block, just to be sure she wasn’t making a mistake. Apparently she’d come all the way out here to a fake address.
“Great. Just terrific.” She plopped onto a wet bench and shrieked when she realized the one across from her was spray painted with a number. 215.
The irony was too much and laughter spilled out of her just as the rain stopped, almost as abruptly as it had started.
She shook her head and water scattered from her limp curls. “At least I’m in the right place, I guess.”
“Of course you are.” Whitney’s head snapped up to stare at the man now sitting on the other bench. “And you’re right on time. Thank you.”
“You’re my interview?”
“Technically, no,” he said. “You’re my replacement.” He grinned. “The job is yours if you want it… he likes how you handle yourself.”
“He… who?” Whitney looked around again, but there was nobody else in the park.
“Cloudburst. He’s been with you since the transit station.”
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