Two strangers on a bus - Introduction

Two strangers on a bus - Introduction

A Story by M.M.I
"

This is the beginning of what I may attempt to turn into a screenwriting or I may continue with it as a short story. I think it is disgustingly cliche'd, but I've found that many people like that.

"

It hit him like a ton of bricks, and then all feeling floated away. The rain had now begun to bubble up in clusters on the outside of the bus window and a dim light glowed far away underneath the downpour. She took a seat across from him and he wondered if she knew that he was in love. The bus’s doors shut and the wheels began to spin their way down the city street. The bus was unusually empty with the exception of a single man in the back and the tiny puddles of water that were pooled up around the doors. The yellow cord above him dangled freely as he wondered whether or not to pull it. After a few moments of thinking, he decided that he would glance over and perhaps they would share a gaze. She had soft brown hair, freckles strewn across her cheeks, and iridescent green eyes that shimmered like pools of jade. It was hot on the bus as it rumbled its way through an intersection, making noises like some cantankerous old machine. After concluding that the silent moments between the whirring of the bus were unbearable, and that he was not an irreverent man, he spoke firmly to the brown haired woman and with the hopes that she would not notice the beads of sweat on his forehead:

“Do you have the time?” The words shot out of his mouth as if it were predetermined that they would be cohesive and bound in a certain, almost exclamatory tone.


She looked up from a yellow book situated on her lap, glancing at the man who had been nodding looks her way since she had gotten on the bus, and noticed tiny beads of sweat on his forehead. He was about six feet tall and wore a black rain coat and underneath it a blue dress shirt and tie. She was from England originally, living in the states now but still with a noticeable accent.


“Do I have the time?” she quipped as if she were confused.


“You’ve been pretending not to glance my way now for ten minutes, and it’s the time you want is it? Are you sure?”


The man felt small as if he were standing across from a tremendous destiny, and he remained silent with the urge to respond, but devoid of the right words to say. The sound of her voice was endearing and curious as it poked holes in the suffocating heat of the bus. He found his composure:


“Are you from England?”


The woman smiled at the stiff posture the man had assumed, and started to suspect that he was a schoolboy dressed in a man’s clothing. She was flattered by the man’s nervous infatuation, and she looked at him curiously with squinted eyes, tapping the hard plastic seat next to her so as to signal to him. He slowly took a couple steps toward her and sat. She stared at him for a few moments, studying his face. He sat tall as if he were shot by an arrow in the back. He looked at her as she propped her head up on a fist, wondering what the man might be thinking. They both began to smile. She broke the silence as she pulled a brown sack out of her backpack.

“Would you like an orange?”


“What do you mean?” He said, still seemingly hypnotized by the woman.


“An orange. Would you like one?”


“Do you have any apples?” The man asked


“No I haven’t any apples. If I had any apples then I would’ve given you the option now wouldn’t I?”

The man of course had been drugged and without hunger in its rightful sense. He had only the insatiable desire for the woman, and wanted to touch her. They sat beneath the double wide windows next to the door. She awaited his response, and rested in the silent lull of his penetrative blue eyes. Their gaze continued for several seconds until jolted by the violent stopping of the bus. The woman fell across his lap for a few moments, dropping her orange to the ground. The man picked it up and rubbed it against his dress shirt and handed it to her as she scrambled to regain herself. A few more people hopped on the bus, taking seats away from them. The bus started up.

“I think I’m okay on the orange. Thank you though. Any good?” He asked gesturing to the book that laid across the woman’s lap. She was peeling the orange, releasing a faint aroma in the air, dropping the small bits of peel on the ground next to her.


“It was on the discount rack. I don’t like it. I find it rather…how do you say it? Impractical”


“Well it can’t be too bad. There’s always at least few good parts with those kind of books.” The man said, now waking from his trance.


“Do you believe in fate? The woman asked right before biting down on the flesh of an orange sliver.”


“Fate? I’m not sure” The bright bus lights flickered a little.


“Well the book is about angels. The angels live all over the world but nobody knows that they’re angels. So there’s this angel who comes to earth and falls in love with a regular person like you or me. A mortal. They spend all this time together and fall in love. Only thing is after a while, God comes down and tells the angel that the man she loves is going to die in an accident. It is fate he tells her. So the angel goes up to heaven and bargains with God saying ‘take me not him,’ and things like that. So when it came down to it, God agreed. He let him live, and had her die and the man didn’t know that he was in love with an angel and that she’s really not dead but they’ll never see each other again because It’s not fate and it’s not God’s will and he’s not an angel too. Do you see?”


The man nodded while squinting his eyes and pursing his lips, thinking about the plot and how it was rather morbid and he decided that he didn’t like it very much either, but he didn’t know what else to talk about so he pretended to be captivated:


“Well I rather like it” he decidedly remarked.


“You’ve got to be kidding me! It’s terrible. Tell me. How can you compare the live of a human to that of an angel? It’s not an equal trade-off. Are they not different?”


“I’m not quite sure. I think it would be hard to decide. I don’t think I’ve ever met an angel, but then again I guess I wouldn’t know. Are you saying that the man should’ve died? That god was lacking in judgment?”


“I think that neither of them should’ve died. Have you never heard of divine intervention?” “But anyway it’s entirely asinine to compare the two. It’s not practical.”


The man glanced at the orange peels that had accrued in their entirety next to her seat while she worked on the last few bits.


 “Oh? Would it be like comparing apples to oranges?” The man smiled as he spoke, finding the seriousness with which she took the matter of angels and mortals to be of some humor.


She cocked her head to the side and looked at him dismissively, speaking slowly: “Yes. Just like comparing apples to oranges.”

The man introduced himself, extending a hand to await her embrace:

“I’m James, he said”

She looked at his hand for a few moments before outstretching her own.

“Elizabeth. Nice to meet you. And I’d love to continue with this ridiculous conversation but this is my stop coming up and I’m rather tired, and I haven’t any more time to talk about God and angels and apples and oranges with you.”

 

 

 

 

© 2014 M.M.I


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Added on November 3, 2014
Last Updated on November 3, 2014

Author

M.M.I
M.M.I

U.S.A, GA



About
I've just started writing fiction again, and thought that some mindful criticism could be of help. Thanks more..

Writing