Sunday, June 11, 2017

"Bus Stop" by Bryce Willey (Guest Feature)

Bus Stop
by Bryce Willey
(Guest Feature)

My ol' pal Bryce Willey
has returned from his
extended MIA status to
deliver his latest feature.

When did someone decide to name happiness? When did someone decide to name sadness?

My happy place is grey, cold, dull, snowing. The air stings my lungs with every heavy release of working breath. I have a hefty jacket on — jeans, DC's and a beanie.

There are trees everywhere. I'm in a forest but there — a bench and a bus sign. It's still — quiet, except for the wilting whisper of snow drifts and snow flurries.

I have a coffee that never runs out. I have a book that never ends. And for some reason I'm sitting at a bus stop.

The bus arrives, but there isn't a driver or other passengers — no one. The bus' engine is roaring. The glass on the windows are frosted over.

I'm shivering, but I'm not really cold. The bus starts moving. I'm so fucked up, I don't care. I just want whatever life this is to stay for a while. Hours and hours pass while I close my eyes and sit in silence.

The bus stops, but I'm at the same place. Did we go in a circle? Whatever. I get off and sit down at the bench with my coffee and book. I read for a bit, but I could never make out what the book is about.

Another bus shows up. This time its filled with people — young people, loud as fuck with no care. No driver. I try to sit there silently listening to the cluster fuck of children screaming and chatting. I couldn't take it. I screamed. I fucking yalped! The children stop and stare at me and started laughing at me — it didn't stop. I fell down crying. I tried to stop the bus to get away from the noise. The door wouldn't open. I went to the wheel and I was flung to the back window of the bus. I was trapped — helpless, alone, but surrounded by people.

The bus finally stopped — no one left. No one moved. They kept yelling and talking. I got off, and of course I'm back at the bus stop. I sit down with my coffee and the really, really fucked up plot of a book.

I sleep there on the bench — I couldn't handle the bus ride again. I wake up to the bus, and the door fling open, but the driver is there — a fat man with a ski mask on. He doesn't talk — just stares at me. I had to get on. I asked him, "What is this place?" "Where is everyone?" He told me to "shut the fuck up and sit down and enjoy the ride."

I felt funny, like I knew this place. The bus stopped, but someone got on — another person "WHO ARE YOU?" I exclaimed. The person looked at me and said, "I am your happiness." The bus driver said, "I'm your sadness." Then, children appeared and screamed, "We're your depression! You don't get to leave."

My happiness sat next to me trying to hold my hand. Depression kicked his shin every attempt he made. Sadness just drove mindlessly, ignoring everyone. The bus stopped. The depression left —disappeared. The happiness gave me a hug and sadness told me to leave. I got off. Happiness waved to me. The back of the bus says, "See you soon" I sit down at my bench drinking my coffee and reading my book.until the next bus ride.

-Bryce Willey
(June 2017)

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