Bus

She stared down the street as she walked. The stores were closed and there was a feeling of emptiness. She didn't bother looking in the shop windows today. She wished she wasn't here at all. Treading towards the bus stop where she would wait for the inevitable. The air was cold.

On the bus, surrounded by strangers who also looked blankly at nothing or their phones. The bus stopped and waited too long for a new driver to take over. She was going to be late and she swallowed a momentary pang of panic. Oh well. Sometimes there is nothing you can do.

Finally, the bus lurched into motion. People came and went, trying to avoid one another. And then a man got on the bus. He carried a long duffel bag. He didn't pay, but instead put his bag on the luggage carrier near the front, and looked around. The driver yelled at him about paying, but the man didn't hear. He shifted his glance from face to face. He looked angry. He looked at her briefly, and she caught his eye. He looked down, just for a moment, then turned back to his bag. The driver yelled again. But the man opened his bag and pulled out a long gun. He turned and aimed it at the driver and told him to drive.

Everyone looked at each other with crumpled faces, but no one spoke as the man turned back to them, shot gun aimed down the middle of the aisle. He walked up the aisle, all the way to the back, and strangely sat down.

She was close enough to see him clearly. He had a look in his eye that she was familiar with. It was a trapped animal. It was anger and fear, but the anger had won. It was a ferris wheel of hopelessness.

He raised the shotgun and some of the passengers ducked and covered their heads. Someone cried out something unintelligible. She flinched a little. But then she looked right at him. As he held the gun to his shoulder, he looked back. She wanted to explain to him with her eyes that she knew something he didn't. That she understood. That he shouldn't do it. They were scared but she wasn't, and she knew why. They kept their gaze.

He moved the gun from left to right and some people fell to the ground with their faces unable to see their fate. There was a slight smirk on his face and he showed his toothless gums. He was dressed as though there was a bag of clothes left somewhere on the street for him to return to. Maybe he had no choice but to make them suffer. He was a nobody, and people would look right through him, but not now. Now he was able to change lives.

Why wasn't she scared? A thought crossed through her mind. A moment of envy. A moment of grief for her lost self.

She suddenly stood up. and walked jerkily towards him as the bus lurched ahead. He didn't lower the gun, but his shoulders slumped a little until she was right there in front of him.

"I'll do it for you." She held her hands out. He looked down, but she moved closer until the butt of the gun pressed into her abdomen. His hands were shaking.

"Do it."

He looked up at her with more pain than anger.

"Or I will do it for you."

His finger quivered on the trigger, as he made a mental decision. It seemed like an eternity, this brief end. She put her hands on the gun. She grabbed it firmly, and pulled it from him. The gun was heavy.

Now, his face was blank. He sat stoically.

She turned and walked to the front of the bus. She raised the shotgun and told the driver to stop. This small woman with a big demand. But he pulled over. She could see his confusion.

"Get off," she yelled to the man. For a moment he sat frozen in his seat. She could feel the other passengers incredulity and it burned her skin a little. She felt angry with them. She was saving them, but suddenly didn't want to.

He lifted himself heavily, and walked slowly to the door. It opened in front of him, and he looked at the street. For a moment he hesitated, but never looked back. The bus stayed silent as he stepped down, and walked away. He was staring right ahead.