Hot summer afternoon. This one busy intersection bleeds dead traffic all morning long. A bus rides through the traffic lights. On time for once. Granted permission to cross by the power behind that little green light. Pulling over to the side of the road with the sun glinting off it's giant shell, surely blinding some onlooker indefinitely. This giant slow moving beast grinds over to the bus stop. There is this one guy sitting on that cheap little bench. The one that they leave you to sit on when you're waiting to be swallowed up by the doors of this stupid machine. There's an advertisement for some kind of pizza on the bench. One that probably comes out really greasy and gives you the runs no doubt. The bus squeals to a halt. The doors open, and no one gets off. This man, in his cheap blue corduroy pants and matching alligator shirt picks up his Kmart bag full of underwear for him, and two boxes of feminine napkins for the little woman. He steps up to the door and grabs hold of the handrail. He starts to climb aboard. When he looks up to smile at the driver, his eyes bulge with surprising disbelief. He lets out this gurgling wet little whimper as he stares down at the giant meaty hole that used to be his chest. Somehow, he manages a great resounding scream. Now, if you've ever seen a man with a big bloody hole of juicy flesh for a chest with only half a lung torn to bits by buckshot, then you know how ridiculous this guy looked. Poor guy, his favorite shirt ruined. Nothing left but the shoulders and the alligator's a$$ hanging on by a thread. Needless to say, it's pretty much a dustrag at this point. Anyway, he's crying now and there's a fresh load of fecal matter recently delivered to the back door of his already sh*t streaked undies. He probably would have puked all over the steps leading up to the bus, if his stomach hadn't already exploded and sprayed all of his lunch onto that cheap little bench he was sitting on just a second ago,. where his hairy a$$ was resting, while he was thinking about how he doesn't make enough money to support him and his wife, let alone a kid which is now three days overdue. On that bench now sits a majority of his digestive and respiratory system in neat little steamy lumps of blood and guts all across the seat and sidewalk. His insides now displayed all over that billboard on the bench. Little bits-O-guy now just fresh toppings for that pizza featured in the add. The slogan, "What do you want on your tombstone?" Well, uh let's see... Could you blow my guts all over it please? Oh, and don't forget to put extra cheese on it. Finally, the poor schmuck loosens his grip on the handrail and falls back into his own humble pie. There's no grace involved in this movement, he just f*cking died. Laughing, I put the gun back to the driver's head. 58 more stops on this route, and 112 more bullets. Hollow point for that explosive performance. "Step on it a$$hole!" I say, "I ain't got all f*cking day!"
Notes:
I was definitely going for a short story feel here. Maybe I was trying to invoke Stephen King or something. I just had some strange ideas floating in my head at the time. Wait until I start posting some of the dreams I've had!!!
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