Flash Fiction

He had been sat on the cold, cold ground for a long, long time. He had been waiting. He was good, extremely good at waiting. He had been told early on, as a child, that he was patience, patience personified. He often used this to his advantage.

The sun had started falling behind the taller buildings when Doctor Blood first appeared. He stepped, tall from the hidden shadows. In the folds of his hood covered face it was clear to see the years of determination. If you knew what to look for it was just about possible to make out the tattoo covering a long forgotten scar. As he lifted his head he spotted the patient man rising from the cold ground.

The two met in the middle of the now deserted street. Patience meets determination on a litter strewn nowhere. They exchange curt muffled greetings. Some where a car guns it’s engine. Doctor Blood hands over a small package. There is no thanks. The patient man turns on his well worn heel and disappears in to the welcoming shadows. Doctor Blood’s determination relaxes a shade and he retreats in to the doors of the non-descript buildings just as the searchlight of the patrol car illuminates the doorway. Doctor Blood pauses, takes a deep and edges as far into a corner recess as is feasible. The patrol and it’s searchlight, satisfied, moves on. Doctor Blood, like the patient man, is determined to see this thing to the end.