Story Untitled

The sound of a fly buzzing in my ear wakes me and, for a moment, I wonder if it was merely a dream. Those moments distorted are more like dreams. My eyes open to the boy standing over me: his eyes wide as if he is waiting for me to wake.

The fan rotates just enough to make noise, the faucet in the bathroom drips in alternating patterns, and the rain outside blends with these to create a symphony of torture. I look around the room, standing slowly as to avoid a headache; I wonder what waits for me in death.

The boy, a mere pawn in this story, walks toward the door without speaking a word. I assume that he has no need to speak, or that he cannot speak. He, Andrew as I have decided to call him, walks through the door into the wet cold. I follow Andrew: what else do I have to do?

We walk down the steps toward a bus, a long grey bus, as a man in a cowboy hat steps down. He has a grin that makes me shudder and a walk that makes me wonder about what he’s been through. The tall man walks, limping, to meet us.

My breath freezes within the sheets of rain. I shiver, my hands numb, and my clothes soaked through.

Andrew steps onto the bus and I follow.

People of all sorts sit, silent, looking down as I follow Andrew to two empty seats in the rear.

The man boards the bus, sits behind the wheel, and soon we’re heading toward a red sky as the sun sets slowly ahead of us.

I drift between sleep and wake, more memories of that life once lived, while Andrew watches over me. In one moment of delusion I saw that damn blue car. It was racing us, faster and faster it went, but then an oncoming train crushed it.

What eerie imagery comes at moments of great strife?

The bus comes to a stop at a bus terminal, everyone else stands, and we depart as one mass of souls condemned to a certain fate. A fog surrounds this place: what lies beyond is a mystery. The boy walks through the crowds, people with blank stares, toward a bus that is boarding.

In some way, unspoken, I understand why I am here. I understand why those on that bus are here. Andrew leads me to our seats. He falls asleep as soon as we sit. I begin to wonder if he’s an angel or a demon. He looks so peaceful, yet that could be so deceiving. 

Soon the bus is moving down a highway, making stops every so often to take on more passengers.

A man, tired eyes and unshaven face, sits next to me and fights sleep. I realize so quickly that I am doomed to ride these buses meeting people in need of something.