FIFTY SEVEN

It was late. The bus had moved at a snail’s pace due to poor visibility from the thunderstorm and by the time Anson disembarked from the bus, dinner time had already come and gone. To top it off, he was the last to be dropped off.

As the bus drove off into the almost deserted street, he glanced at his phone. Margaret had left him a message, telling him of leftovers in the kitchen. That made him smile, he loved Margaret's cooking. Thunder rolled overhead and the storm thickened. He had to walk a little further to reach Ma’s Bakery and decided to take a shortcut instead. He was cold and hungry and didn’t want to walk under the pelting rain anymore.

The shortcut was not exactly the most savoury of areas. It was a lonely street with abandoned buildings and broken windows that seemed to stare at him with hollow eyes. The flickering street lights ahead whispered for him to run out of there as fast as possible.

Splish splash splish splash he quickened his pace, keep