NEW: Waiting.

 

He stood on the moor - isolated and alone. He seemed the tallest thing for miles in the flat rolling landscape, like a loose pillar of flesh and bone. He didn't move a muscle. His heart beat, his pulse thumped, his chest shifted with gentle rhythmic ease. He was alone, as he was meant to be.

The sun was up - flashing and brittle, while a cold wind rattled around his still body, whipping his hair repeatedly across his face, obscuring his focused grey eyes. He swallowed, then gingerly moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue. He was waiting - for what? He really didn't know - but he was waiting.

He screwed his eyes up tight, and tried to see something, anything - shapes, shadows, faces - anything, but there was nothing. Nothing.

He felt slimy water begin to seep into his worn out sneakers. He should have worn boots. he should have stopped, thought, and stuck on his boots. Maybe he should have done a lot of things, prepared himself. But he had been in a hurry, afraid he would be late. 

He opened his eyes, scanned the horizon one more time. Nothing. He would wait some more, then be off. He could do this again tomorrow, or the next day. He had time, still had time - just.