So I am still going through my cracker-jack box of computer files and I came across this little story I did for a flash-fiction assignment a billion years ago. The general consensus then was that it was ‘weird’. I remember that it was the middle of the night when I wrote it (at a 24 hr Coffee Shop that sadly is no longer). I have not changed a single word for this posting – I am sitting outside of a grocery store, plugged into their wall, borrowing their wifi and it is coming up on midnight.
So, kamikaze publishing – I think that is a ‘new’ thing I will add to this blog. Wadda ya think?
NUMBER 25 BUS
She stepped off the curb, the bus was so close, there was no way it could miss her. Just like that, she was gone. She floated in darkness, aware of her mind and nothing else. She felt warm, that came later. She didn’t panic, not at first, she just hung there, suspended. Number twenty-five, the bus was number twenty-five, she didn’t know why she knew that, or why it was important.
The day had started off normal enough, nothing special. She had dressed for work, caught the train downtown and stopped for coffee as she always did. Her boss was congenial, even if he was a bit of an ass. She chatted with the women, this one had a new grandson, that one was getting a divorce. She paid her bills during her lunch hour, contemplated getting a manicure after work, booked a weekend at a ski resort.
Her boss left early, around three. He said it was for a meeting, but the HR lady had seemed a little too friendly when she walked out of his office at two-thirty. She called her mother and relived another conversation, the same one they had every week since she had dropped out of college. She hung up promising to call again the next week.
She turned off her computer, put on her coat. It was red and had faux fur around the collar. She had been happy when she found it at the Goodwill the winter before last. On her way out, she stopped to flirt with the lawyer in the next suite. He was married, but fun to chat too.
She had dinner alone at an Olive Garden, it was located in a strange place. Crammed into the corner amongst office buildings, no other stores or restaurants nearby. They had a good house white, she had two glasses with dinner. The sun hadn’t set when she left, the streets were not as busy as they would be had she waited another hour.
That’s when she saw the bus, she don’t know why she decided to step out. It was just something to do. She didn’t think of death, or injury. She did not think of heaven or hell. She just stepped out. The bus number was twenty five, the same age as she was, odd.