Waiting For Delilah

this is my extremely short story that i just wrote because the need struck me. it started in a completely opposite direction than it ended in, as most of my stories seem to do, but i love it all the same so leave me a comment and vote to show me your love :D

thanks for reading. < 3

Waiting For Delilah

There he was again, that old man. I didn't understand why he sat there from three in the afternoon until six, never moving or walking away for a brief moment. He just sits there, smiling. Who in the right mind would do that, right? For no reason at all. Everyday.

When I first moved to this apartment and got of the three o'clock bus, there he was on his old man bench, smiling. I though he was a pervert and glared at him, zipping up my sweater until the metal teeth pinched my chin. The next day, I stood opposite of him and starred. Not blinking, just waiting for him to look away or leave so I could cross to my apartment door. After thirty minutes I gave up an took the back way.

A week went by and he was still there, smiling at nothing. I got my friends to come home with me, telling them about this strange man, how I suspected him to be getting off on watching the little girls in the neighbourhood. They shouted at him and made fun of him i laughed ans encouraged their foul actions. The old man looked puzzled at the behaviour than his smile flattened and he looked at his feet. Hours later I looked down from my bedroom window three minutes to six, i was hoping to find that he had left. Went to his house and would never be heard from again. Instead he was there still, sitting in his perfect posture. He stood, took off his hat, the smile that had regained it's position on his lips, turned down at the edges. He pressed his hat to his chest, lowered his head and kissed his fingers, brushing them against his bench.

I puzzled over his strange acts for days, watching him when six rolled around on my clock everyday. Eventually I asked my friends to quite with the mocking when they came to see me. Something about him made me sure he was not there to watch the young girls walk by, there was something sad in his eyes, something that left me with an ache in my heart.

His grey eyes gazed at the horizon, watching the cars speed by him, taking no notice that he exists. I took notice. After a month, Autumn sprang to life, colouring the tress and shortening the days. He was still there during those chilly days. The same outfit, just upgraded with a scarf. By the time winter made it's presence known, I smiled at him as I passed, he smiled back, he's eyes lighting up for a brief

moment than going back in to a blank gaze with a smile.

I sat with him. Sat beside him until six. We didn't talk, we didn't need to. We were waiting. People passed and smiled, I figured out the regulars. The business woman who walked to work in her high heels, than walked into town for lunch. The baker's delivery boy who carried piles of breads and pizza's to the near houses. A large woman who owned the craft shop on the corner of Hansen’s street. Some of the passer smiled to the old man, he waved to them and whistled a tuneless song for a moment before going silent.

One woman with red hair like fire and a personality that shone in her eyes to match it, always said good morning sir as she passed. She was his age, maybe a few years younger at the most. She always wore dresses no matter the season and her hair was a curled poof on her head. She was pretty and just seeing her made you feel warm. The way she looked at the old man was something I had never seen before, I didn't understand it, I couldn't.

On the fourth month of siting beside him, something happened. I sat beside him as I have, pulling out my books to read. He started to whistle to himself, I looked up but there was no one on the street. He was looking at me, whistling the song with no melody. He blinked at me and his eyes cleared of their thick screen.