Seven Minutes

 An old man stood at the bus stop, leaning on his cane. An oaken pole with a curved silver handle at the top. Every so often he would glance down at a phone.

 Another man arrived at the bus stop, a suitcase in hand. He tapped his foot impatiently.

 "Seven minutes" The old man said in a raspy voice, staring at the screen of his phone.

 "What are you talking about?" He asked confusedly.

 The old man smirked at him. "The bus should be here in about seven minutes. Why don't you calm down and talk a bit?"

 "I have a business meeting in fifteen minutes, how can you expect me to be calm?" He glared at the old man.

 The old man stared at him, with his chilling, colorless eyes. "Is that so? I have an appointment too." He looked at the phone. "In about six and a half minutes now."

 The businessman scoffed. "Do you have a friend on the bus that you're waiting for?"

 "I suppose you could say it like that." The old man said with a chuckle.

 An awkward silence held for a minute, then it began to rain. The two men went into the bus stop and sat down.

 The old man lay his cane across his lap, resting his frail, bony hands on top of it. "You know, young man. You should relax a bit, no one wants to live and die in stress and sadness."

 The businessman sighed, acknowledging the truth in the old man's words. "I know. But I need this meeting to go well. If it does, I'd finally be able to give my wife and child the life they deserve."

 The old man shook his head. "Such a pity, but for what? All that people do is sit on this world, waiting for their time to run out." he sighed "But the sands in the hourglass slow for no one."

 "You're a pretty morbid guy, you know that?" The businessman told him.

 The old man chuckled again. "I suppose so, but it probably just comes with my line of work."

 The businessman sat up a bit, curious. "Line of work? Were you a soldier or something?"

 He shook his head. "No, but I've seen countless battlefields over the years."

 "A philosopher? Or maybe a Historian then?"

 "Still no, but I've met many of them in my life."

 The businessman sat there, stumped. "So what are you then?"

 The old man looked at his phone, and chuckled again. "You'll find out in a minute."

 The phone slipped out of his hands and clattered to the ground. On the screen, there was only a timer. Which was now counting down from fifty nine seconds. The businessman felt a chill down his spine as he recalled the old man's earlier words. Waiting for their time to run out. 

 The old man ignored the phone and stood up, looking down the street. Forty five. "Ah, the bus is here."

Thirty. The bus swerves violently in the rain, losing control.

Twenty five. The old man pulls a small hourglass from out of his coat.

Ten. The bus barrels towards the stop, the businessman tries to run away.

Five. The old man breaks the hourglass on the silver handle of his cane, the businessman goes limp.

Zero. The bus crashes through the stop. The businessman's broken body hangs stuck on the front of the bus. People come out in shock and panic. All grieving the poor man who had been waiting all alone for seven minutes for the bus to arrive.