“I thought if we left LA, I wouldn’t have to wait in traffic anymore.”
“It’s been twenty minutes, Derik–God the smell–we’re running out of time.”
“She’ll be fine. Her contractions weren’t that close.”
“I can’t wait any longer.” Janet opened the door. “I’ll be faster on foot. Meet me at the clinic.” She snaked through the herd. In the nearby village she ran into the one-room shanty, cleaned her hands and donned some green scrubs.
A half hour later, Derik arrived.
Janet smirked, pointing to a small wooden crib. “It’s a baby boy.”
Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting Friday Fictioneers. This is my submission for the short writing prompt. To check out others, follow the link: http://new.inlinkz.com/luwpview.php?id=399413