Written by a Chinese student for a creative writing assignment while studying in England)
The misty fog swirled around me like a dragon's breath and made me shiver. My breath steamed on the icy evening air. Sighing heavily, I looked once again at my watch. The last bus was late.
It has been late often. As winter nears, I get more and more dejected. I sat on the bench and wrapped my thin raincoat around me to try to keep warm. The cold air seemed to cut like a knife across my face as I watched people passing by. One lady looked quite chichi.
I took a deep breath, and when I exhaled, it looked like smoke. That brought back memories of going out with mum and dad in the winter. When I'd let out a lot of air then, I'd tell them it was smoke just to shock them. I liked to tease that way.
As I was reminiscing, another strong wind hit me, and I shivered once more. Glancing at my watch again in the hope that the bus would come didn't help.
Fewer people were walking past, and I thought that most everybody was home by now and many were warm in their beds. It was midnight. I'd just heard the bells. They reminded me of a death knell.
I looked around the place where I'd already been waiting for an hour. It was bleak and quiet until a girl about my age came and sat next to me. I took a look at her and saw that she was even colder for she wasn't wearing a coat. She seemed to be in a rush because she kept looking at her watch and murmuring "Why is the bus always late?" It was a kind of soliloquy for she wasn't really talking to me. In class, they'd probably call it a susurrus, as she was whispering.
As I waited, I kept thinking that it would be Christmas soon. If mum were still here we could celebrate like other people do, and that thought made me happy for a few minutes.
Suddenly I blinked as the lights of a car caught my eye when it sped by, and I heard the girl asking me what time the bus normally arrives. Her voice was shaking.
"Hopefully, it'll come soon" was my reply, and then I thought about the last time I had heard that word being used. It was when mum was really ill. I'd asked dad if she was going to get better, and he had answered, "Hopefully". He hadn't been right; she had passed away five years ago on Christmas Eve.
It was impossible to enjoy Christmas the next day. I'd been full of astonishment that she could actually die. Normally I'm all agog when Christmas comes, but now it makes me cry. I hate Christmas.
I blew on my hands to warm them, as my breath was so much warmer than the air, and then looked at my watch again. The bus was an hour and 30 minutes late. As I looked up the road, there was only silence. Nothing was in sight; everything was quiet, and I've never liked that feeling. I like loud places. Quietness is depressing.
Then suddenly - way down the road - a light caught my eye. It didn't look like a car. I thought that maybe it would be the bus.
It was.
The bus had arrived!