Late One Night

The car arrived at the house at a minute to midnight; one person knew, no one moved to greet it.

 

A black sedan with white tyres, a bullet hole in the windshield.

 

One person lay in their bed, waiting, listening for the door to open, close. 

 

No one moved to greet it.

 

An upstairs light was still burning in the house.

 

One person was outside the house, listening for the steps on the gravel path; somewhere else an owl called.

 

The door of the car opened, someone left the car and stood, also waiting.

 

Maybe smoking.

 

Then the door closed.

 

And a new chapter began