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  • I suppose it was a bit of a shock to see her crawling for the bus like that. The doors closed and it roared away from the stop.
    Standing up from the rain soaked pavement, Mary dusted off her knees and watched her filthy carriage vanish out of view.
    "Good grief! What will become of me now?" Mary questioned rather furiously. She knew that the buses only turned up once a decade around these parts. They were scheduled to turn up every seven minutes, but the local bus company didn't seem to care about sticking to their advertised planning.

    Mary knew that her life was on the line. Sullen brow, down-turned bottom lip, shaking like a leaf; she was quite a state. Gleefully, I sat watching her futile attempts to stay warm. Rubbing her hands, jogging on the spot, and shivering were her main chill prevention methods.
    I quickly called my wife, Doreen, and told her to throw some popcorn in the microwave. Sadly, she said that we were out of popcorn and we had never owned a microwave. This was upsetting to say the least. She did, however, agree to drive to the local store to purchase the items.

    As my wife's saloon car pulled out of the driveway for the very last time, Mary tried to flag her down by throwing herself under the wheels. The rubber tyres splintered bones and pulverised vital organs, but failed to kill Mary who eventually dragged her sorry case back to the curb after my wife had driven away laughing.

    I swiftly fetched my top-hat and monocle, from the wardrobe and dressing table respectively, before I marched across the street to assist Mary. After propping her delicate frame onto the bus stop bench, I bent down to one knee and asked for her hand in marriage. She agreed, possibly out of desperation given her unfortunate condition, and later that evening we were on our way to sunny Uruguay for we would be married on that very Christmas morning.

    Forever, I will remember our wedding night with a warm fondness. Mary sat on the roof of our hotel and we both agreed to jump. Hand in hand, we looked down at the busy street below and sobbed a collective sob. As my new bride jumped, I let go of her hand and laughed heartedly as she splatted on the pavement below. A congregation of local Uruguayan folk circled around her; nodding somewhat understandingly. They were most overjoyed at the spectacle they had witnessed on that festive evening.

    As was I.
    Perhaps the bus service back home in Cardiff will take note of this tragedy and sort themselves out.
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