A Bus Trip by Sheila Tucker

 

You look at your watch and have no idea how many times you have done this before. You are evidently anxious to leave. So leave.

“Gotta go,” you say and fly across town to catch the Greyhound that will transport you across the country.

The Greyhound leaves on time, but to your surprise, you’re the only one on board.

“Hah. Got the whole bus,” you say, and the driver turns and smiles, displaying very white, even teeth.

You expect the bus to stop, pick up other passengers, but it doesn’t. Keeps on going with just you on it. Outta town, speeding across wheatsheaf deserts.

“Hah. Hoggin’ the whole trip,” you say, and the driver turns and grins, displaying uneven, creamy teeth.

You think the Greyhound will need to stop for gas; however, it’s not thirsty. Keeps flyin’ on, just the driver and you – down through the ragged, writhing ravine.

“Hah. Can have the music loud,” you say, and the driver turns and smirks, displaying rather yellow, jagged teeth.

You imagine the bus will stop, for bathrooms and bars, but it doesn’t. Keeps on going with just you aboard. Through a hole in the ground and into shadows.

“Hah. Got the hole world by the balls. Get the pun?” you say, and the driver turns and sneers, displaying extremely sharp fangs.

You imagine the bus will stop, at the centre of the Earth, but it doesn’t. Keeps speeding on, you with the mute driver, who seems quite friendly.

That is, until he leaps up, wings outspread, and flies toward you mouth maw open, forked tongue wriggling, with just you aboard on the bus to Hell.


Sheila Tucker writes short fiction and poetry, and has finally completed a book-length coming-of-age memoir. Her work has been published in national newspapers and anthologies. Sheila runs a monthly Poetry & Prose group in her home town, with her own readings often being magic realism or just plain whimsical.

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