That Bus Doesn’t Stop Here Anymore

The ticket was never the destination.

Eli perched himself on the splintered bench. The bus stop was deserted. Flowers poked their dying heads out of a rubbish bin, abandoned with disaffection. He clutched the worn ticket in his palm, its edges curled like the pages of a forgotten story.

He was waiting for a bus that didn’t know he was there. His unkempt hair clung to a skull too sharp for his skin. His stubble was as uneven as a mountain path. Grubby plimsolls clung to his feet; his ragged trouser bottoms sat on top of them. The rest of him was covered with a long blue winter coat. He looked down at the worn ticket, no destination, no date, all had worn away. He checked his broken watch. It said 11:22; it had said 11:22 for some time now.

He wasn’t sure if the bus was late, or if he’d simply been waiting since yesterday. The bus stop was empty then too. Where was everyone these days? He was trying to keep his heart afloat, keep his dreams alive, if he could only remember what they were. If the bus had turned up yesterday how come he was still here waiting? The disconnection fed on his fears. The memory bleed gave him hope; the flickering moments when the past still reached him. Flashes of the past, vibrant city streets, crowds, the sweet elixir of laughter and love. All of it clashed with the emptiness around him though.

His hand gripped the ticket ever tighter now. He felt his plimsoll clad feet start to move away from the bus stop, Autopilot engaged. Maybe it was time to move on? He began to wander the surrounding abandoned streets. Eli passed a wooden tea chest filled with forgotten toys, torn posters, and faded photographs. The bus was never coming back. The route had died along with the city.

By dawn, Eli had reached a place where the city ended. He found an overgrown park, with a broken fence leading to nowhere. There were swings, all of them broken except for one. He swung himself gently back and forth. He spotted a door in the distance. It stood alone, no walls, no frame, just a door. It was old with painted blue panels that were chipped.

He hesitated and then realised that he had waited so long for something to arrive, he forgot he could leave. He decided to step through the door. He didn’t know where it led. Only that it wasn’t here. And that was enough. The ticket fell from his grip as he took the first step.