The Queue

I wrote this several years ago, but it turns out it’s still relevant – it’s always still relevant.

It’s particularly silly. I make no apologies for it.

THE QUEUE

I looked up. The queue had barely moved. I looked ahead of me, then behind me. The same people were there. Looking, no doubt, the same as I did. Tired.

I couldn’t remember any more when I’d joined the queue. I couldn’t even remember what I was queuing for. Both had disappeared into the long ago. The rain had stopped at least. But now the wind cut through my clothes and I was cold.

A movement ahead of me penetrated the woolliness of my mind and something approaching surprise struck me. Was the view the same as it had been a few moments ago? I wasn’t sure. There was a sudden rush of adrenaline that just as quickly disappeared. Nothing was happening.

I looked down again. My feet were unchanged.

Later…

I glanced up from my feet. They had seemed to be moving of their own accord.

There was something new ahead of me. It took me some time to realise what was different.

There was no-one ahead of me.

My eyes filled with tears.

A man came over to me. He looked official. He handed me a piece of card, smiled broadly at me and shook my hand. I moved away and for the first time I could recall, my feet moved in a direction other than straight forward. I stopped. Then walked again. Then stopped. Then walked again. The joy of being able to choose when I stopped and when I started was overwhelming.

Then I looked at the card. It had the following legend written upon it:

Congratulations. You are now qualified to queue up to meet Neil Gaiman.

© Lee Barnett, 2002