Author: Plato's Optic Runaway PM
My bus sucks...Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Supernatural/Humor - Words: 1,103 - Reviews: 2 - Published: 05-07-03 - id: 1297677
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Presuming my often fatal yet devoutly held 'natural selection' tradition does not always function in such a primordial way in the mortal world, much unlike the ultimate eminence it controls in the preternatural society, I sigh resignedly at the thought of their piteous race. Among my kin, the weak shall plummet miserably into an infinite abyss of eternal despair and torment while the strong triumph and receive the sanctified yet always transient privilege to survive, for the skulking threat will always lurk among the shadowy dusk. Ah, the reminiscences...so many loathsome, fledgling souls have fallen victim to my wrath under such a perilous custom. Their puny, ashen hearts simply could not cope with my divine power. Contrary to the doctrines of many weaker folk who wouldn't reverie or dare to declare their contradictions to my face, the errors belonged to them and them alone; they stumbled in the path of subsistence for awakening my rage. But they, unlike most, failed to rise again...I smirk maliciously at my countless murders...so deliciously wondrous...my mind, previously drenched in slaughter-soaked recollections, sadly shifts back to the present situation, much less of a tantalizing memory. Wait...it, alas, happens now, so, I suppose one would have certain compellation to dub this as the present moment.
The rubbery, depraved, redolent stench, akin to that of a wretched, smoldered cigarette enveloped in the fetid carcass of a deceased, woeful woodland creature deplorably crushed beneath the remorselessly homicidal and blundering feet of a improvident automobile raids my helpless nostrils, obliging me to grimace and recoil in disgust. I cringe at the thought of that infamous trait of my yellow, rancid prison that much resembles a hulking, putrefied hunk of an object barely distinguishable as cheese wrought with squirming, overly loquacious maggots, which, I suppose, could hold the dubbing of 'humans,' if one ponders for quite some time over the whole dilemma. Not that any creature residing in any sort of expected state of sanity would wish to have a calling as such. I muse with delight over the delectably ironic reality that I no longer hold such a disdainfully shameful title.
Beads of bleak rain lick the grimy window, lapping down the greasy, fogged surface in glassy waves of drably colorless liquid, grizzled fluid drizzling down the pane, slithering surreptitiously down the sleek sides of the vehicle encrusted with crumbling patches of coppery rust, and dripping towards the rapid current flowing on the street below, the tiny tributaries fusing together in a dull, desolate, lifeless canal of despair. The water retreating down the expanse of the briskly receding drive in a rushing spurt of cheerless refuse, I grimace slightly at the deficiency of the so-advertised long-lasting, piercing, mint-flavored freshness foretold to burst from the now soggy wad of an abhorrent, pale, blobbish substance plaguing my mouth with its tastelessness.
I snap back again, as I do so often, discerning that the disturbance from earlier has passed, as the bus has recommenced trudging onward, if one could call such a torturous pace forward movement. Well, just as expected, it sharply jerks to a halt a mere second later...this street seems familiar in some way...I linger, shrouded in a pensive daze, seated in the coarse leather furnishing who's duplicates adorn the vehicle in similar fashion, until a blunt nudge followed quickly by a harsh whisper informs me that the time to disperse has arrived. I had deemed death as the inevitable predecessor to this 'joyous' event. Gathering my simple belongings in my pallid, pasty hands, poignant characteristics of demons that haunt the shadows, I scuffle down the gravel-doused, black pathway, dodging perplexed and sometimes wary glances of the boorish humans I pass.
Paying little notice to the goldenrod prism lumbering nosily down the road behind me on the gritty, ebony ocean before me, I react in the identical method towards the pointless, inane squawking of the academically challenged, ungainly creature beside me, choosing to instead bask in the soft drumming of gentle, soothing globes of water stroking my cheeks and tapping the road, dancing in watery pirouettes upon the pavement as I drift by much in the comportment of a wraith. My wisps of steadily wettening brunette locks waft into my face as the frosty, sugary-rain-scented winds whistle by, and I gaze longingly at the overcast Heavens lain before me in a melancholy blanket draped across the sky, yearning for the day when I may join the twinkling stars above. But for now, my confinement remains in that hopeless structure...the place I currently aspire to return to for fear of further sufferance...home...?