Authors Note: I am so sorry for the delay! I've had almost the whole chapter written since the posting of the preface. I just wasn't sure how to end it. I don't even know if I like how I did wind up ending it after all this time. Speaking of the preface though, thank you for all the wonderful feedback, alerts and favorites. Each one is viewed and strongly appreciated. Also! If anyone happens to know a beta, or is a beta that will have time to help me out with this story, please let me know! I've got a ton of ideas, but I'm not sure how to execute them properly. So anyone with comment, help, or information on a beta- Please review, or PM me. :) Without further ado: Chapter One. Thanks for reading!

Five months prior.

The bus's engine roars back to life before slowing down as it approaches the next stop.

Only three people board. The first being a middle age typical business man, with his ear attached to a cellular device and even carrying the stereotypical briefcase at his side. They're all the same, those business men, always having that perfect household to return home to; a trophy wife, a young boy who will grow to be just as mundane as his father, and a young girl who is most certainly spoiled by both parents. Little does this family know, their modern day, typical lifestyle will soon fall to shambles as the business man realizes he is trapped in this average world. He'll leave his family and job behind to run from the truth of it all.

The second passenger is a teenage boy, with a hood pulled up to shield his face and headphones hooked in to an MP3 player blasting whats certain to match his dark, saddened expression. He's sure to be an outcast at his school. Underlined, and taunted by the jocks that ultimately rule the social ladder that has become most children's lives. It has changed the surely once to be happy boy into the person he is today, independent and broken.

The third is an older African American woman, making her way back to her empty apartment to watch day-time television and wait for a phone call from a friend that will never come. Still full of optimism, she will sip her wine, in this moment, content with the quiet simplicity of her life.

As they board, they disperse to find seats separate from each other and also others amongst us, each in their own space, their own world that completely differs from the ones around them.

I sit behind them all. In the very back seat available. I merely sit quietly and observe, neglecting to do much else.

It's became a game I play quite frequently. Noticing people, and guessing how they live by the way they carry themselves and the way they interact with one another. It no longer surprises me as a number of stereotypes shuffle their way onto my beloved bus and become regulars. However, it does pique my as I notice subtle changes happening with each of my fellow commuters. They seem to always coexist with the stories I created about the subject themselves.

They have a tendency to do the opposite of I, caught to much in their own lives to notice others, they ignore instead of embrace or enhance. I frown upon the fact that the socialization is a minimum, and the fact everyone seems to carelessly blend in with society who is pushing them away from each other and in turn away from themselves. Not once has anyone ever try to speak to me as I ride to and fro. Of course, who is to notice the girl hidden in the shadows who's observance is quietly allowing her to learn about them from a distance? Who is to notice her silent glances only broken by her time spent staring at the environment outside her window? Who is to notice her?

I'm used to the quiet alone time the bus provides for me. I've been riding since I was a small child. My mother nor father could spare a moment to drive me to the dance classes or performances I've grown to love.

The studio provides something much different than the bus. It provides my own world, much like the ones around me are traveling to their homes- their worlds, I'm traveling to mine.

My dance instructors and peers have become my unbiological, yet ever-changing family. Peers come and go as the years go by, and the teachers who have once taught me the most, always retire in the end, yet the studio itself remains, holding a beacon of light at the end of a darkened tunnel, giving a safe, judgmental free place to always return to at the end of the day.

I'm pushed away from my thoughts as the bus comes to a halt at my stop. I realize most of the other boarders have already left their seats and the tiny, moving bus. I smile at those who remain as I cross down the isles leading me to the bus's exit. No one notices. No one says bye, or smiles back. I honestly didn't expect them to.

I am constantly waiting for the day where perfect strangers can still be friendly, or at the very least, considerate to one another. I've never quite understood why people are hostile to ones they don't know. Why they purposely ignore others presence at the least. I try my best not to do this. All games excluded, you never know a strangers true story.