Prelude
Water cascaded down the cold glass, appearing to bend and distort anything outside the bus. People could be seen taking refuge under shop front canopies and bus stops. The previously bustling streets had been reduced to stretches of land seemingly devoid of life. The only movement was the occasional newspaper, caught on the wind. As it inelegantly tumbled along the street, the rain thrashed down upon it, the burden proving too much for the wind to bear. Its ink running from the once crisp print, and water fusing the pages together, the newspaper now lay on the floor. Defeated by the rain, it now twitched intermittently as the wind persistently endeavoured to pick it up once more. The relentless rain struck down on the metal roof of the bus, drowning out all sound except the shrill cry of a young child behind her.
Eva hated catching this bus home. The same people caught it each day. The same child sat in the same seat behind her, and the same mother was on the same phone call, ignoring the child’s same requests. The repetitiveness and predictability of everything about this journey simply reminded Eva of how her job had identical characteristics. Silently, she sat contemplatively.
Her hair remained rat-tailed, and the damp atmosphere refused to let it dry. Her soggy jeans left her feeling uncomfortable as they wrapped tautly around her legs. At least now she was out of the rain’s reach. Looking towards the front of the bus, the windscreen wipers could be seen sweeping back and forth, letting of a piercing screech each time. Moments after the wipers cleared the water from the window, the visibility was once more reduced to almost none. Eva slumped back into her chair, the sound of the rain had become almost soothing.
Abruptly, the mellow journey quickly came to a halt, as a deafening crash tore its way along the bus. Heads jolted forwards, and the child stopped its crying. In an instant, the bus was still, and there was a deadly silence. Only the sound of the rain remained. Utterly disorientated, Eva picked herself up off the floor. The rain no longer ran down the windows, but was pouring in through the openings where the glass once was. In those few moments, the same bus journey that Eva took each day became infinitely different to any bus journey before.
Eva hated catching this bus home. The same people caught it each day. The same child sat in the same seat behind her, and the same mother was on the same phone call, ignoring the child’s same requests. The repetitiveness and predictability of everything about this journey simply reminded Eva of how her job had identical characteristics. Silently, she sat contemplatively.
Her hair remained rat-tailed, and the damp atmosphere refused to let it dry. Her soggy jeans left her feeling uncomfortable as they wrapped tautly around her legs. At least now she was out of the rain’s reach. Looking towards the front of the bus, the windscreen wipers could be seen sweeping back and forth, letting of a piercing screech each time. Moments after the wipers cleared the water from the window, the visibility was once more reduced to almost none. Eva slumped back into her chair, the sound of the rain had become almost soothing.
Abruptly, the mellow journey quickly came to a halt, as a deafening crash tore its way along the bus. Heads jolted forwards, and the child stopped its crying. In an instant, the bus was still, and there was a deadly silence. Only the sound of the rain remained. Utterly disorientated, Eva picked herself up off the floor. The rain no longer ran down the windows, but was pouring in through the openings where the glass once was. In those few moments, the same bus journey that Eva took each day became infinitely different to any bus journey before.