A Rude World

What are you, leathery succubus from hell?

Why are you here, slithery demon of time too lost?

I see you here, every other day or so. Often not by choice. I can’t help it if I’m the last to get on the bus, since I’m usually reading a book, and I can’t help it if I’m the last stop in the city, since that’s just where I am, every other day. When I get on the bus, I can taste the noxious waves of annoyance drifting from where you sit, reading another thick novel, full of the same old words always used to keep you interested.

But you’re not interested.

No one can ignore you, though I assure you, they do the best they can. They put miles of space between you and them. There is no one to hear your disgusted mutters, no one to see you glance at your watch at every intersection. No one to endure your distaste for the human race, or at least the ones who seem to always be in your way.

Where are you going, witch?

The seats were overflowing, when I at last got on. Except for that one, that vile seat to your right. The indentation from your previous victim was still visible on it, too.

—and so I was offered, as a sacrifice, to you. In silence, I took my seat.

(Silence (noun)- 4: Refusal or failure to speak out.)

My defenses were down that day. My brain was fuzzy and reeling. My eyes so heavy that I could not keep them open long enough to know how far I was traveling, and how long it was taking me to get there. Everything was one moment. One fantastic image after the other:

Fourteen months of the same mystery…

“Oh, c’mon, for fuc-“

History does repeat itself, it must repeat itself…

“You’ve gotta be kidd-“

A glowing smile, emerald lips, hair like silk, cold hands…

“God, dammit.”

What are you, cunning lizard of hatred?

You make it so much harder to be in love.

You’re taking away my romantic comfort.

You’re sucking the life out of my memories-turned-fantasies.

With a stupid amount of effort, I opened my eyes to see a woman, pale and cheery, climb onto the bus. Unlikely as it was that she was there to save me, I’d had my fair share of unreasonable thoughts that day already. Hope existed.

The pale woman wanted to sit down, and who can blame her. The seat was raised up, presumably to make room for a wheel-chaired person that I missed sometime during my disturbed slumber. She reasonably attempted to lower it, because legged people wish to sit, and wheel-chaired people long to stand.

She’s a persistent one. After three or four attempts at lowering it (the seat appeared to be as stuck as I was), she called out for help to someone (anyone) on the bus.

“Is this seat broken?”

I couldn’t answer the question for her. The seat and I weren’t too familiar in that regard.

“Just take another seat, god dammit….” hissed the leather-clad witch. I looked her in the eyes.

She was wearing sunglasses. Maybe she had no eyes.

I was not the only one who heard her this time.

“Excuse me?” the peach lady smiled, looking her directly into those eternal, black frames.

“Nothing.” She lied.

She’s rude and she plagues my dreams and she lies.

I was suddenly silent no more.

“She said,” I stated, without any inflection of agreement in my voice, “’Just take another seat, god dammit.’”

The smile from the lady’s face disappeared. Her eyes widened. Her skin looked paler than before.

I, meanwhile, was pulled into hell by a blind serpent, with a wristwatch as its collar.

“Oh, thank you,” it spat, “Thank you for repeating that. God… Let it go.”

I folded my hands, not in prayer, but in casual protest.

“No,” I thought.

And got off the bus,

holding my head high,

heavy as it was.