Hey there!

Just a little note to say that I haven't abandoned my other story 'The barricade', and that I will be updating that one soon.

Please do not be phased off by this chapter, as it is only the prologue, hence it is written differently from the rest of the story.

xx

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The bus doors of the 534 are practically closed when the yelling is heard and there is the unmistakable sound of a fist banging on the left side of the vehicle. The four passengers are briefly startled but then relax their unified tension. The young boy wearing a beanie near the back chuckles a little, as does the girl sitting rows in front of him. The doors separate loudly, creaking with the agony of constant use. A fifth passenger enters.

“Thanks mate.” He pants graciously to the bus driver. He pats the driver on his back, but is shrugged off by the aged man’s awkward shuffle. “Sorry…” He leans over to read the driver’s name tag “…Mitch”.

“Just sit down so we can go.” Comes the gruff response. “You’re makin’ me run off schedule.”

The new passenger nods and swings into the seat behind the driver. He turns around to face the other passengers who all pretend they weren’t staring at him. He grins broadly while adjusting the collar on his ‘Coffee House’ work t-shirt, and spins back to face the tensed back of the driver.

The old woman sitting across from him hums softly while working on her embroidery. She has her threads organized on the seat next to her – five different colours: blue, purple, pink, red and off-white. She cuts a snippet off the off-white and proceeds to add patches of the colour to the detailed flowers that decorate the delicate piece of cloth.

The trip runs in the silence that is only caused by people trapped in their personal thoughts, until the sound of a mobile phone ringing pierces the mutual lack of sound. The man in the back seat of the bus pulls the offending item out of his pocket.

“Hello, Vi…Oh”. He breathes out loudly as he rests the right side of his head against the window. “Not now. I can’t be bothered with you. I’m going. I…love you.” He mumbles, flipping the phone shut to block out the response of his caller. He rubs his eyes and politely covers his yawn before leaning against the window again. The silence resumes.

Only two of the twelve eyes on the bus see the semi-trailer.