Sunday, September 30, 2012

The Crash on 23rd Street



The Crash on 23rd Street

She sat down in the middle of the bus to find herself alone. The sleeping town breathed heavily through a sheet of acidic rain, the smell of which, though mild, hung loose in the air of the vehicle like piglets suspended from their ankles, the stench coming and going as she drew her feet up from her red rubber boots. 

A few minutes earlier the driver, now momentarily outdoors for his more or less statutory 11:11 PM cigarette break, had in accordance to security measures yanked the key out of the ignition and thus left the interior of the bus in a green-glowing darkness. A few late-bloomer moths smacked softly against the white man on the exit sign, gray cords of rain slowly racing down the plexi-glass windows. 

She hugged onto her knees, listening intently to the light-winged smack while snapping an old hair tie to her wrist, a mound of thin purple rising from her skin. The rain, muffled and thick as it fell from the iron sky, felt sulfurous to the tongue, tart and unsettling in a way that was foreign to her body. 

It made her feel like an alley cat mistakenly licking at the mouth of a liquor bottle. 

It burned. 

She could feel tiny grains of sand as she ran her tongue over her teeth, the unfamiliar sensation causing her to cringe and twist at the base of her spine. The white man blinked every now and then, the flashing vibration enough to drive the moths crazy, the sound like that of a tiny helicopter as they bombarded the plastic. 

The rain slowed to a drizzle. 

She leaned her head back, watching the moths’ green-and-black shadows play. A dark stain the shape of a reindeer skin hung attached to the blue metal panels of the ceiling, heaving with the cold air creeping in from below the doors and between the windows. 

She breathed in the sulfur, this time welcoming it. A low hum drifted in, the previous stench stronger with the push of the wind. The larger one of the moths had by now grown tired, its fuzzy shadow covering the head of the man on the exit sign, apparently the best seat in the house. 

She smiled, the taste more pleasant as she ran her tongue over her teeth once more; it was warm, almost metallic. 

She set her feet down and plunged them back into her booth which had, of course, grown cold from their momentarily lack of human heating. She curled her toes, watching as the driver launched his cigarette stump into the river passing underneath; the orange-to-gray ashes lingering upon the surface as the bus whirred to life once more. 

She sat upright, blinded by the lights as the moths fled through the open doors, triumphant. She opened her eyes to find a man dressed in a green raincoat sitting in the seat adjacent to her. 
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Classwork for my English course. Was to do 450+ words of description about a deserted place, possibly the intro to a suspense story. It's a writing course so of course me likey.

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