Badstench
09-25-2009, 12:32 PM
This is a story that is non-Sryth related, but in a circuitous way, it is.
Fiction and fantasy go hand in hand.
I desperatly want to re-write this story so that the underlying theme of horror comes through. But it's not really a horror story.
You decide.
~~~~~~~~~~
No. 7
I live almost opposite the last stop on the route taken by the number 7 bus.
Conversely, I live at the beginning of the route taken by the number 7 bus on its return journey to the beginning... or the end, depending on how you look at it.
The number 7 bus is known as a "cross-town" connection, which is to say, it doesn't go downtown, uptown, or anywhere in between. The number 7 bus ignores the oft-most travelled directions and heads directly from my doorstep to Hell.
That sounds a little dramatic, yeah? I should explain that "Hell" used in this context is an outer suburb where unwed mothers constantly scream at nappy soiled children, where there is no pub, where every household has a plasma television burgled from more affluent suburbs, and dogs roam unchipped and un-collared.
My end of this bus route is the exact opposite of "Hell". In my neighborhood people walk their fluffy little poochie-woochies while enroute to the offices of the nearest dietician/ alternative therapists/ personal trainers. Along the way, they might pause at any one of the profusion of cafes for a latte (decaf) and to peruse the business section of the newspaper.
God, how I hate them!
Coincidentally, the name of the area where I live is quaintly known as "Heaven".
************************************
I catch the number 7 bus every day. It is the most convenient public conveyence available for me to get from my apartment to the place where I work, which is located at about the midway point of the journey.
I pose this question to you: "What lies between Heaven and Hell?"
One day, I had ocassion to find out!
************************************
That day began like any other: wake, stumble into the shower, continue with the morning ablutions until, feeling human, I exit the comfort of my apartment and make my way to catch the 6.20am No. 7 crosstown public conveyence.
I remember that it was raining that morning. It was also cold, which wasn't surprising, being that it was winter and all. It was dark, too; a condition of the winter solstice... I didn't know it then, but it was the shortest day of the solar calendar. The sun was still a good hour from rising (not that we'd see it appear through the drizzling grey of the overcast sky).
I muttered a curse to the elements and pretended a sniffle.
In better weather, I could usually be assured of seeing the obligatory jogger jog past, or a gaggle of cyclists or power-walkers. These weather conditions denied that, which was no great puzzle. Still, it was a little puzzling to note the complete lack of traffic, even at that hour. There was usually someone driving past; early starters hoping to beat the worst of the morning rush-hour, paper delivery vans, taxis prowling for a fare, etc.
The road was uncommonly devoid of all that. And to compound the mystery, the danged bus was late!
**************************************
The No 7 bus to "Hell" arrived at seven minutes past its due time. I had thought about casting a withering remark at the driver, but in the true fashion of meek citizenry, I merely handed over the correct change in expectation of a ticket.
"Fare's gone up", said the driver after a non-chalant glance at my offering.
"Oh? Sorry, I didn't know. How much is it, then?"
"Seventy more cents".
I rummaged through my change and came up short. "Erm... I don't have another 70 cents... just got a 5 dollar note.... can you change that?"
"Nope".
We were at an impasse.... well, I was at an impasse. The driver sat unmoving and unconcerned. Ordinarily, this type of situation would have embarrassed me, but an apologetic glance at the other passengers showed me that.... there weren't any other passengers!
Regardless, I scooped up the original change I had offered and handed over the 5 dollar note. He pushed a few buttons and a ticket was spat out. I extracted it and moved to take a seat.
"Unbelievable", I thought as the bus pulled away from the stop. "70 cent price rise? That's outrageous! I will complain about this. Dang right I will."
********************************
Perhaps it was the rainy-cold conditions, or the fact of the unsettling dream I had earlier that night... anyway, out of character, I dozed on the bus.
I haven't mentioned my dream, have I? It was nothing, really. A hooded man stood at the front of a line of seven sheep, and I stood behind the seventh. Why and for what purpose, I have no idea.
**********************************
I was roused from my slumber by the driver of the number 7 bus intoning, "Last stop. Everyone off. The next service will return in 7 minutes".
Huh?
Wha?
Eh?
A confused glance out the window showed me pre-dawn darkness, except for the glow of a light which illuminated a sign that said, "Bus Stop. Please signal the driver"
"Excuse me? Did you say, 'Last Stop'?"
"Yep"
"Oh, my God. Where are we?"
"At the last stop, sir".
"Is this 'Hell'?
There was a pause before the bus driver answered. "No, sir. This is merely the last stop. I can take you no further. Please disembark."
A certain amount of panic set in. How long had I been dozing? Did I actually fall asleep? Had I totally missed my stop and gone clear across the city?
"Wait. I mean... please wait a second". I was furiously trying to focus on something, anything, outside the window... something that would look familiar, but all I could see was the light above the sign that said, "Welcome to Hell".
"Please disembark", repeated the driver.
"N-no way!" I stammered, pointing out the sign. "I don't want to get off here. That sign.... it keeps changing!" Whereupon I turned to the driver... "The sign changed!"
"Did it, sir?"
"Look... look at it. It says... it says... Oh, my God. Now it says, "Heaven ain't such a bad place to be!"
"Perhaps that's so, sir," answered the driver. "And I've heard it said that people don't appreciate what they've got until they experience Hell, but I am just a simple bus driver. I don't know of such things. Please disembark."
*************************************
So, back to my question, "What lies between Heaven and Hell?"
The answer is... well, it's quite complicated, but there are many theories which revolve around the journey a soul (or spirit if you're so inclined) takes to reach either destination.
Some talk of a tunnel where the end is a bright light, some talk of a waiting room where white clad attendants cater to your every need, some talk of a grey nothingness called "Limbo".
Whatever, the journey beyond the physical world is rarely described as a bus ride.
********************************
The No. 7 bus pulled away, leaving me beneath the sign that now said, "Bus stop. Please signal the driver".
An Audi sports coup drove past, splashing a puddle of water in my direction.
A woman with a spotted dalmatian berated her beloved poochie-woochie for doing something that dogs have a natural habit of doing.
A jogger jogged past.
A bus sidled up to the bus stop, the No. 7 sign brightly lit. The door opened.
"Sir? Did you want to get on?"
I focussed on familiar surrounds; the same bus stop opposite the well-known cafes of my neighborhood, the comforting sight of the pathway that led to my own front door.
I smiled at the driver. "It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"
She regarded me with a curious look. "No sir, it's a terrible day. Do you want to go somewhere?"
"Home." I answered, and turned my back on the No. 7 bus. Despite her remark, it was a beautiful day; the rain was amazing, the dark of pre-dawn was also amazing, the noise of traffic was, likewise, amazing. Everything was amazing.
Everything was a slice of Heaven.
Fiction and fantasy go hand in hand.
I desperatly want to re-write this story so that the underlying theme of horror comes through. But it's not really a horror story.
You decide.
~~~~~~~~~~
No. 7
I live almost opposite the last stop on the route taken by the number 7 bus.
Conversely, I live at the beginning of the route taken by the number 7 bus on its return journey to the beginning... or the end, depending on how you look at it.
The number 7 bus is known as a "cross-town" connection, which is to say, it doesn't go downtown, uptown, or anywhere in between. The number 7 bus ignores the oft-most travelled directions and heads directly from my doorstep to Hell.
That sounds a little dramatic, yeah? I should explain that "Hell" used in this context is an outer suburb where unwed mothers constantly scream at nappy soiled children, where there is no pub, where every household has a plasma television burgled from more affluent suburbs, and dogs roam unchipped and un-collared.
My end of this bus route is the exact opposite of "Hell". In my neighborhood people walk their fluffy little poochie-woochies while enroute to the offices of the nearest dietician/ alternative therapists/ personal trainers. Along the way, they might pause at any one of the profusion of cafes for a latte (decaf) and to peruse the business section of the newspaper.
God, how I hate them!
Coincidentally, the name of the area where I live is quaintly known as "Heaven".
************************************
I catch the number 7 bus every day. It is the most convenient public conveyence available for me to get from my apartment to the place where I work, which is located at about the midway point of the journey.
I pose this question to you: "What lies between Heaven and Hell?"
One day, I had ocassion to find out!
************************************
That day began like any other: wake, stumble into the shower, continue with the morning ablutions until, feeling human, I exit the comfort of my apartment and make my way to catch the 6.20am No. 7 crosstown public conveyence.
I remember that it was raining that morning. It was also cold, which wasn't surprising, being that it was winter and all. It was dark, too; a condition of the winter solstice... I didn't know it then, but it was the shortest day of the solar calendar. The sun was still a good hour from rising (not that we'd see it appear through the drizzling grey of the overcast sky).
I muttered a curse to the elements and pretended a sniffle.
In better weather, I could usually be assured of seeing the obligatory jogger jog past, or a gaggle of cyclists or power-walkers. These weather conditions denied that, which was no great puzzle. Still, it was a little puzzling to note the complete lack of traffic, even at that hour. There was usually someone driving past; early starters hoping to beat the worst of the morning rush-hour, paper delivery vans, taxis prowling for a fare, etc.
The road was uncommonly devoid of all that. And to compound the mystery, the danged bus was late!
**************************************
The No 7 bus to "Hell" arrived at seven minutes past its due time. I had thought about casting a withering remark at the driver, but in the true fashion of meek citizenry, I merely handed over the correct change in expectation of a ticket.
"Fare's gone up", said the driver after a non-chalant glance at my offering.
"Oh? Sorry, I didn't know. How much is it, then?"
"Seventy more cents".
I rummaged through my change and came up short. "Erm... I don't have another 70 cents... just got a 5 dollar note.... can you change that?"
"Nope".
We were at an impasse.... well, I was at an impasse. The driver sat unmoving and unconcerned. Ordinarily, this type of situation would have embarrassed me, but an apologetic glance at the other passengers showed me that.... there weren't any other passengers!
Regardless, I scooped up the original change I had offered and handed over the 5 dollar note. He pushed a few buttons and a ticket was spat out. I extracted it and moved to take a seat.
"Unbelievable", I thought as the bus pulled away from the stop. "70 cent price rise? That's outrageous! I will complain about this. Dang right I will."
********************************
Perhaps it was the rainy-cold conditions, or the fact of the unsettling dream I had earlier that night... anyway, out of character, I dozed on the bus.
I haven't mentioned my dream, have I? It was nothing, really. A hooded man stood at the front of a line of seven sheep, and I stood behind the seventh. Why and for what purpose, I have no idea.
**********************************
I was roused from my slumber by the driver of the number 7 bus intoning, "Last stop. Everyone off. The next service will return in 7 minutes".
Huh?
Wha?
Eh?
A confused glance out the window showed me pre-dawn darkness, except for the glow of a light which illuminated a sign that said, "Bus Stop. Please signal the driver"
"Excuse me? Did you say, 'Last Stop'?"
"Yep"
"Oh, my God. Where are we?"
"At the last stop, sir".
"Is this 'Hell'?
There was a pause before the bus driver answered. "No, sir. This is merely the last stop. I can take you no further. Please disembark."
A certain amount of panic set in. How long had I been dozing? Did I actually fall asleep? Had I totally missed my stop and gone clear across the city?
"Wait. I mean... please wait a second". I was furiously trying to focus on something, anything, outside the window... something that would look familiar, but all I could see was the light above the sign that said, "Welcome to Hell".
"Please disembark", repeated the driver.
"N-no way!" I stammered, pointing out the sign. "I don't want to get off here. That sign.... it keeps changing!" Whereupon I turned to the driver... "The sign changed!"
"Did it, sir?"
"Look... look at it. It says... it says... Oh, my God. Now it says, "Heaven ain't such a bad place to be!"
"Perhaps that's so, sir," answered the driver. "And I've heard it said that people don't appreciate what they've got until they experience Hell, but I am just a simple bus driver. I don't know of such things. Please disembark."
*************************************
So, back to my question, "What lies between Heaven and Hell?"
The answer is... well, it's quite complicated, but there are many theories which revolve around the journey a soul (or spirit if you're so inclined) takes to reach either destination.
Some talk of a tunnel where the end is a bright light, some talk of a waiting room where white clad attendants cater to your every need, some talk of a grey nothingness called "Limbo".
Whatever, the journey beyond the physical world is rarely described as a bus ride.
********************************
The No. 7 bus pulled away, leaving me beneath the sign that now said, "Bus stop. Please signal the driver".
An Audi sports coup drove past, splashing a puddle of water in my direction.
A woman with a spotted dalmatian berated her beloved poochie-woochie for doing something that dogs have a natural habit of doing.
A jogger jogged past.
A bus sidled up to the bus stop, the No. 7 sign brightly lit. The door opened.
"Sir? Did you want to get on?"
I focussed on familiar surrounds; the same bus stop opposite the well-known cafes of my neighborhood, the comforting sight of the pathway that led to my own front door.
I smiled at the driver. "It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"
She regarded me with a curious look. "No sir, it's a terrible day. Do you want to go somewhere?"
"Home." I answered, and turned my back on the No. 7 bus. Despite her remark, it was a beautiful day; the rain was amazing, the dark of pre-dawn was also amazing, the noise of traffic was, likewise, amazing. Everything was amazing.
Everything was a slice of Heaven.