Bus Stop
The Number Two
The number two bus pulls up against the red line and several people step closer as its lowered to the ground. I already have my two dollars held firmly in my hand, just like every time I ride the bus. As I step up the ramp and drop the coin into the holder it makes a hallow sound, the driver holds out a transfer slip, but I decline going to take my seat in the middle section of the bus.
This time though something is different, it’s getting darker the time must be around quarter to 9:00 PM, the constant beating of rain doesn’t help the odd feeling I’ve gotten. The rain makes the skyline look like it’s bleeding; maybe the sun has decided she’d like to slit her wrists over the mountain. I take my seat and quickly pull out my Mp3 player and shove the buds into my ears preying that maybe music would make the feeling I have go away.
A metal head sits down in front of me and take out a purchase he’s bought, usually it wouldn’t bother me, but my friend says he creeps her out so we stand up and move close to the back of the bus. Once seated I twitter between The Rocket Summer, Mayday Parade, JamisonParker and Counting Crows, the feeling doesn’t waver.
I keep imagining someone on the bus pulling out a gun and pointing it at me, the thought doesn’t scare me, but unsettles my imagination; the images it pulls forth next are sadistic. I envision myself pulling the weapon out, thinking how I’d disguise it; would I put it under my clothes or in my oversized messenger bag; how quickly could I make myself shoot the thing?
A man steps by me shaking me from my stupor, the scent of chicken wings comes off his clothes, it’s enough to make me realize what I’ve been thinking. Laughing at myself mentally I change the song to something hardcore, something that keeps me from thinking, something by Memphis May Fire does exactly what I want it to.
As the stops become sooner together more and more people get off and the night grows darker. The bus’ lighting is a yellowish colour, it pulls back the memories of my earlier thinking - it reminds me of something out of a cliché horror story. Finally after 30 minutes I’m the last one of the bus, just me and the driver; I’m not longer thinking of killing anyone in a sadistic manner, now it’s just a matter of time before I can get off the contraption and write the thoughts I’ve been having down.
The bus hasn’t officially stopped before I’m jumping off of it to find my mom’s car and get a ride home. I’m still wrapped in my story as we drive out of the parking lot to my brightly lit home, but by now I’ve made up names for all my characters, Jess, Callum, and Michael; they have no idea what a sick person I am
This time though something is different, it’s getting darker the time must be around quarter to 9:00 PM, the constant beating of rain doesn’t help the odd feeling I’ve gotten. The rain makes the skyline look like it’s bleeding; maybe the sun has decided she’d like to slit her wrists over the mountain. I take my seat and quickly pull out my Mp3 player and shove the buds into my ears preying that maybe music would make the feeling I have go away.
A metal head sits down in front of me and take out a purchase he’s bought, usually it wouldn’t bother me, but my friend says he creeps her out so we stand up and move close to the back of the bus. Once seated I twitter between The Rocket Summer, Mayday Parade, JamisonParker and Counting Crows, the feeling doesn’t waver.
I keep imagining someone on the bus pulling out a gun and pointing it at me, the thought doesn’t scare me, but unsettles my imagination; the images it pulls forth next are sadistic. I envision myself pulling the weapon out, thinking how I’d disguise it; would I put it under my clothes or in my oversized messenger bag; how quickly could I make myself shoot the thing?
A man steps by me shaking me from my stupor, the scent of chicken wings comes off his clothes, it’s enough to make me realize what I’ve been thinking. Laughing at myself mentally I change the song to something hardcore, something that keeps me from thinking, something by Memphis May Fire does exactly what I want it to.
As the stops become sooner together more and more people get off and the night grows darker. The bus’ lighting is a yellowish colour, it pulls back the memories of my earlier thinking - it reminds me of something out of a cliché horror story. Finally after 30 minutes I’m the last one of the bus, just me and the driver; I’m not longer thinking of killing anyone in a sadistic manner, now it’s just a matter of time before I can get off the contraption and write the thoughts I’ve been having down.
The bus hasn’t officially stopped before I’m jumping off of it to find my mom’s car and get a ride home. I’m still wrapped in my story as we drive out of the parking lot to my brightly lit home, but by now I’ve made up names for all my characters, Jess, Callum, and Michael; they have no idea what a sick person I am
♠ ♠ ♠
It's a one shot. Hope it was liked? I dunno'.