On The Bus

picture by Mick Mather

***

Buses are the worst. At first, everything is alright, you step aboard, pay your fare and sit down. The driver starts the engine, your eyes seek for the familiar landscape through the window. Forests and meadows melt into a swirling ribbon, blue, green, occasional sunny, yellow spots. The ribbon unwinds when the bus rolls to a stop, the doors sling open, new passengers mount to the bus.

The journey continues and suddenly you hear the change. Voices of people mumbling to their mobiles get sharper, words come closer, but you can’t hear what is said, you don’t recognize the words. The air is filled with sharp mutter. The ribbon behind the window turns muddy, the window becomes a glass wall, it falls on you, and you’ll be imprisoned into the transparent material.

The bus moves faster. You dare not look at the driver, you’re afraid he’s having a seizure, maybe he’s drunk. He drives more rapidly and you tremble in your glass cube, there’s no air. You struggle for breath, you want to get out, but you’re not able to lift your hand and push the stop button. You can’t move your body. Not before the bus stops for the next time, the doors open, and you feel the cool breeze pulling you out of the bus.

Your feet are shaking. There’s no bench by the bus stop, you’d like to sit on the ground, but you know there’s no way of getting up if you’d do so. You hold on to the pillar of the bus shelter, you lean your forehead and feel the jagged, cold surface, and you try to remember how to breathe.

***

I wrote this short story first in Finnish and published it in my Finnish blog earlier this week, and on the same day Mick published in his blog the pic you see above. I asked for and got the permission to use Mick's beautiful picture to illustrate my story which I translated into English. Mick's work suited the feelings of my story more than perfect. Thank you, Mick.