Hey Motherlovers,
Please enjoy this midnight creation. Muah!!
The (******) in this story mean the P.O.V - point of view - has changed.
He stared at me.
It sort of disturbed me.
Yet, it felt so familiar to me.
His gaze was so strong, I could feel it on the back of my neck, almost as if he were breathing on me, making each one of my hairs spring up in fear.
This feeling of uneasiness frightened me and excited me all the same.
I had the fiercest urge to turn back and look at this man.
This man who sat with his own company and made me feel weak without even speaking one word.
Where had he come from?
I don't even remember him getting on the bus or which stop the rest of the crowd wandered out into.
As if to intentionally leave me with this robust stranger.
I can no longer continue to read my book.
I sense my blood boil beneath my skin as I keep my head up and stiff, so I won't catch his eyes on the reflection of the windows.
I should be home soon.
I guess I could call a friend, if only my battery wasn't depleting at such an alarming rate.
I could have called someone and let them know my location, just in case.
Would it be facetious of me to say I could feel the hate in his eyes?
As this thought scans through my head, I can hear a light shuffle coming from behind me and the light sound the metallic seats make when a passenger takes a seat.
So light, I could have sworn he chose the bench right behind me.
I continue to keep my gaze straight ahead.
I have become so desperate and paranoid at this point that I start trying to capture the driver's attention, but to no avail.
This buffoon of a driver is wearing headphones and is singing his own tune.
How could I have been left alone with this man?
The urge is killing me to turn around and look.
He won't think much of it.
Clearly, he must know I am curious to know the second passenger.
Surely, he will not make the impression an inept one.
I slowly turn my head, and to my surprise, he has not moved.
In fact, he isn't even awake. I stare at him closely.
He is wearing a lime green plaid suit, with grease and dirt all over. He seems to have been living out of those clothes.
He seems to be homeless.
He has dirty skin and short, gray hair with a matching beard that hasn't had a proper grooming.
Relieved, with what my eyes have shown me, I turn back around and open back my book.
I get past a few paragraphs, until I feel a burning sensation.
Once more, there is that light shuffle I heard, only this time, from my peripheral, I can see the old man on the bench right across from me.
Had he watched me as I did he?
I kept my head down and re-read the same sentence over and over again.
My hands began to tremble.
I couldn't contain myself anymore.
"I have never seen you before" he garbled.
"I-I-I seldom ride, usually I have a friend to escort me"
"Do you always ride alone? In the dark?"
"No," I said, fighting from letting my voice shake,"Like I mentioned, I seldom do"
He leaned over and laid his hands on my hands.
"You should,-" He stopped mid sentence, his face aghast.
He jolted his hand away in a shrewd fashion, almost as if he were in disbelief with what his hands had come in contact with.
"Your hands! They are frozen!" He shouted in a frenzy, "Frozen! Her hands are frozen! Help, her! God, Please!"
The driver soon looked in the rear view mirror and saw the old man in a fit.
*******
The driver pulled the bus over on the last stop, removed his headphones and headed towards the old man.
"Yo, Yo," The driver remarked "Old man, calm down," he said as he tried to calm the old man.
"Her hands are frozen! Frozen shut! She needs help! Help!" he belched deliriously from the top of his lungs.
"Dude," said the driver becoming annoyed," Who's hands are frozen, huh? You're drunk again,"
********
I stared at the old man, as he crouched down to the floor with his hands in his head, in fear.
I could feel the hate in his gaze.
But I was curious.
Have a happy Saturday!
And as always, I would love to know your thoughts, nuggets!
Please enjoy this midnight creation. Muah!!
The (******) in this story mean the P.O.V - point of view - has changed.
He stared at me.
It sort of disturbed me.
Yet, it felt so familiar to me.
His gaze was so strong, I could feel it on the back of my neck, almost as if he were breathing on me, making each one of my hairs spring up in fear.
This feeling of uneasiness frightened me and excited me all the same.
I had the fiercest urge to turn back and look at this man.
This man who sat with his own company and made me feel weak without even speaking one word.
Where had he come from?
I don't even remember him getting on the bus or which stop the rest of the crowd wandered out into.
As if to intentionally leave me with this robust stranger.
I can no longer continue to read my book.
I sense my blood boil beneath my skin as I keep my head up and stiff, so I won't catch his eyes on the reflection of the windows.
I should be home soon.
I guess I could call a friend, if only my battery wasn't depleting at such an alarming rate.
I could have called someone and let them know my location, just in case.
Would it be facetious of me to say I could feel the hate in his eyes?
As this thought scans through my head, I can hear a light shuffle coming from behind me and the light sound the metallic seats make when a passenger takes a seat.
So light, I could have sworn he chose the bench right behind me.
I continue to keep my gaze straight ahead.
I have become so desperate and paranoid at this point that I start trying to capture the driver's attention, but to no avail.
This buffoon of a driver is wearing headphones and is singing his own tune.
How could I have been left alone with this man?
The urge is killing me to turn around and look.
He won't think much of it.
Clearly, he must know I am curious to know the second passenger.
Surely, he will not make the impression an inept one.
I slowly turn my head, and to my surprise, he has not moved.
In fact, he isn't even awake. I stare at him closely.
He is wearing a lime green plaid suit, with grease and dirt all over. He seems to have been living out of those clothes.
He seems to be homeless.
He has dirty skin and short, gray hair with a matching beard that hasn't had a proper grooming.
Relieved, with what my eyes have shown me, I turn back around and open back my book.
I get past a few paragraphs, until I feel a burning sensation.
Once more, there is that light shuffle I heard, only this time, from my peripheral, I can see the old man on the bench right across from me.
Had he watched me as I did he?
I kept my head down and re-read the same sentence over and over again.
My hands began to tremble.
I couldn't contain myself anymore.
"I have never seen you before" he garbled.
"I-I-I seldom ride, usually I have a friend to escort me"
"Do you always ride alone? In the dark?"
"No," I said, fighting from letting my voice shake,"Like I mentioned, I seldom do"
He leaned over and laid his hands on my hands.
"You should,-" He stopped mid sentence, his face aghast.
He jolted his hand away in a shrewd fashion, almost as if he were in disbelief with what his hands had come in contact with.
"Your hands! They are frozen!" He shouted in a frenzy, "Frozen! Her hands are frozen! Help, her! God, Please!"
The driver soon looked in the rear view mirror and saw the old man in a fit.
*******
The driver pulled the bus over on the last stop, removed his headphones and headed towards the old man.
"Yo, Yo," The driver remarked "Old man, calm down," he said as he tried to calm the old man.
"Her hands are frozen! Frozen shut! She needs help! Help!" he belched deliriously from the top of his lungs.
"Dude," said the driver becoming annoyed," Who's hands are frozen, huh? You're drunk again,"
********
I stared at the old man, as he crouched down to the floor with his hands in his head, in fear.
I could feel the hate in his gaze.
But I was curious.
Have a happy Saturday!
And as always, I would love to know your thoughts, nuggets!
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