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part one of my first attempt at a short story in nearly 10 years. tenatively titled "witness," it will be an apocalyptic vision which will lack any dialogue. a dream of sorts.
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Steven awoke with a start. He clutched his stomache in pain, an intense feeling of foreboding the only lingering reminder of a nightmare already forgotten. He pulled the covers back, stood up, and shook his head as if to physically dismiss the dream. He made his way through his daily morning routine, preparing for yet another day at work. He groaned as his toothbrush slipped from his grasp and onto the floor. This is going to be another one of "those days."
As he stood at his kitchen window, listening to the news on the radio and eating a quickly prepared breakfast of toast and coffee, he looked down from his apartment to the bus stop half a block away. The 7:15 hasn't arrived yet, so he still had plenty of time until he needed to make his way down for the 7:25. He was never late for work, nevermind how much the job bored him. He was about to look away when something strange caught his eye. Further down the street, a group of what appeared to be homeless people clad in rags were walking towards the bus stop. He stood and watched from the safety of his fifth floor window, interested since it was odd to see bums move as a group. They stood across from the bus shelter, next to the door to the coffee shop, barely in view. Suddenly, one of them looked up, directly at Steven. He felt a chill crawl up his spine, accompanied by a wave of sadness. The person was staring at him, their gaze piercing him icily and seemingly with malice. Their face was eerily pale, lifeless, but the eyes shone with a dark light, glinting like blades in the sun. Its mouth opened, and Steven saw words take shape -- it spoke to him.
Steven's knees buckled, and he nearly fell to the floor, clutching the side of the countertop in an attempt to balance himself.
At that same moment, the 7:15 bus arrived. It careened off of the street, amid screams and the sound of gears shifting, onto the sidewalk. It slammed, full-speed, into the bus shelter, shattering the panes of glass, twisting metal, and crushing the tired businessmen, single mothers, and jaded waitresses waiting to go downtown. The bus shuddered to a halt, smoke and steam curling from the crumpled hood. Steven's jaw was slack, screams filled his ears, one of which he was unaware was his own. Sirens began to sound in the distance, though the possibility of survivors was unlikely. He scanned the wreckage from his window for any sign of movement, and in the corner of his eye he saw figures clad in rags making their way further down the street.
.. to be continued, work in progress ..
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seretogis - sieg heil
perfect little dream the kind that hurts the most, forgot how it feels well almost
no one to blame always the same, open my eyes wake up in flames
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