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Author Name: FreeJam 0 Comments
Date Added: May 30, 2004 15:05:05 Average Score: (Needs 2)
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Category: Short Stories Add To Favorites | Text Only
 
The Last Bus
I don't know why I caught the last bus. Maybe I was just tired of watching the others go by, tired of watching everyone else get on, tired of being the last one left here. Tired, everything is so tiring when you're too scared. And so when the last bus came around, that crazy multicoloured jamboree parody of the Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, I thought "Here's my ride, here's my chance". Ha, what they don't tell you about the last bus is that itís not really a bus. No sir'ee itís an elevator, the express elevator to hell, and the devil's at the wheel, in a bellhop's outfit. You never really get there though, to Hell that is, not that you're going anywhere, not on the last bus. The wheels of the bus go 'round and 'round, 'round and 'round... but its not really going anywhere, and every so often I think I can see where I was sitting, watching all the other buses go by. Strange thing is you can get off the bus whenever you want, and every so often it stops and someone else gets off. I've never seen anyone get on but somehow there are always people, always different faces, or maybe I just forgot what they looked like. You could also jump from the windows, they're wide enough to get out from, see a few go that way, too eager to get on another bus. Itís so strange though, Iíve never seen any of the other buses, never been overtaken by any of them, itís like we just disappeared, or maybe they did. But then again everything is strange on the last bus, its different all the time, like it changes right beneath your eyes, and you don't even notice. Some things are always the same though, everyone has their own steering wheel in front of them, like those little ones you give to a child and let it pretend that its driving when in fact you are. Makes me wonder who's actually driving this thing, and where itís going. One time I went up to see who was actually driving this thing, to ask him where we were going. So I walked up to the front and stared into the driver's section. I ran back to my seat as quickly as I could. You see he had his eyes and mouth sewn shut. He had his eyes and mouth sewn shut, and he looked just like me. Makes me scared, really scared. Makes me wonder. Makes me wonder why I caught the last bus. The bus named 'life'.
Author's Notes:
I just sat down and wrote this one afternoon, thinking of doing a poem version, shorter of course, of it :)
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