Short Story Writing Competition: Unity, 'Unity'

Short story writing competition: Unity

Drumming his fingers on his cheek, the young man turned his view from the front yard to the clock sitting idly on the wall behind where the television set is.
Tick tock. Tick tock.
He usually comes by at noon, but the long hand of the clock has long left its partner and yet he’s not here. The young man could see all the way down his street, and even as far as the old wooden shed of a bus stop at the intersection, and still there’s no sign of him.
Tick tock. Tick tock.
The young man stood up. He walked from the worn out couch to the rusted gate that was keeping him away from the glare of the sun. He looked left then right then left again.
A vision of red swept past his peripheral shortly before he
By now, the long hand of the time-teller has finished travelling three quarter of its journey.
Tick tock. Tick Tock.
He switched on the television. First it was a documentary on wild life then it was a popular sitcom, and before he could even settle himself on the couch the television was broadcasting the end of the afternoon news. And it was then that he heard it.
Vroom. Vroom.
“He’s here!”
The young man ran to the gate without a care for his pair of green slippers. He stopped at the metallic blue gate right at the same time a red motorcycle did. With a brief glance to the man in white uniform, he handed out his right palm up and was promptly given an envelope.
He stared at the envelope that has his name, address, and a university logo adorning its surface. As he stood transfixed by the letter on his hand, he was oblivious of the fact that the clock has chimed in welcome of another new journey.

***

In another household, a mother was seen fussing over her young one. The babe, who is perhaps not more than five months old, was wailing her little lungs out. Although small, she was a good crier as her bawling traverse through the walls of her home and into the houses of those who lived next
He was engrossed in the newspaper and suddenly she saw red.
“How can you calmly sit there and read the newspaper when your daughter is so upset?”
The baby was still crying.
The middle-aged man took a long drawn breath before putting down the newspaper on his lap.
“What should I be doing then?”
“Come here and console her of course!”
Probably agitated by the tensed situation, the baby started to wail louder. The man who was frustrated by the scene that he was currently trapped in began to raise his voice, and his wife reciprocated by doing the same.
At the same time this small family was embroiled in a meltdown, a red motorcycle crept closer to their house. They weren’t aware of this as their heated argument and the complementary sobbing have drowned out whatever noise that the motorcycle might have made.
Stopping at the cheery yellow stucco house that seemed to be in a pandemonium, the man in white uniform was unperturbed as he sifted through his sling bag before taking out several utility bills. He then left the bills in the designated post box before riding off amidst the loud noises trailing him.