It is windy.
Windy and cold.
Very cold.
I curse my thin jumper as I wait for the bus to arrive. There is no-one else at the stop, just me, short and too thin. Not a good build for cold, windy days.
I wonder where the sun has gone. I hope it is back tomorrow. Or at least that I can stay inside if it isn’t.
It’s raining now. I wish I had a raincoat; or an umbrella. Anything to stop the cold and wet. Actually, now that I think about it, I would prefer an umbrella. All the water is making my glasses misty. I cannot see a thing. I might as well just take them off. Then I can rely on hearing alone and everything else will be a blur of colour.
I can hear the bus now. It is loud and rattly. Somehow I feel as if I can hear it’s dirtiness. Hear the hot, crowded, humid jungle inside. It is not a very good prospect.
I put my hand out to flag it down. The bus comes to a sluggish stop about a metre away from me and a fair two steps from the curb.
I wipe my glasses as I struggle to step the distance to the bus.
I finally get on. The bus is crowded. All but one seat is taken and there are a lot of people standing, holding onto the poles like a life-line.
I pay for my ticket and step past the driver as the bus jerks to a start. People stare at me as I fall sideways before catching my balance as the bus turns a corner. The empty seat remains empty.
The bus turns another corner and I fall sideways again, deciding that it is a good idea to take that seat. I clamber over to it, holding onto various poles before sitting down and clutching the arm of the seat so I don’t go flying.
The bus stops at a traffic light and I chance a look at the passenger beside me. There must be something intimidating or odd about him to make the seat empty. I look over.
White hair.
Too pale skin.
An Albino.
He feels my eyes on him and turns to face me.
Purple eyes.
Contacts.
He smiles at me. He can’t be over 20. He shyly holds out his hand before introducing himself. His voice is suave. I like it. It is not too high, nor too low. His accent makes me smile as I take his hand into a messy handshake and tell him my name.
French.
He smiles warmly at me and tells me that he is glad that I took the seat next to him. I ask him why. He replies to me sadly that no-one would sit next to him because of his appearance.
I take a closer look at him.
His hair is long.
His face effeminate.
He seems tall even when sitting down and his limbs are lanky.
There is something about him. Like an otherworldly glow. He doesn’t seem to belong here.
He stares at me through his contacts, taking in my own appearance.
Short.
Thin.
Red hair.
Slightly tanned.
Green eyes.
Average looking.
The vivid colour of purple jumps at me. I ask him about his contacts. A gift from a friend he says, his face bitter-sweet. I smile at him and praise his friend for choosing such a colour. His reply is an empty smile.
I avert my eyes outside and see that my stop is next. I push the bell, a resonating ring going through the bus.
The bus comes to a stop. I stand up and prepare to barrel my way through the 30 or so people who have crammed on the bus since I last looked up.
The albino stands up too, taking off his coat and handing it to me.
You’ll be cold, he tells me.
I nod dumbly and make my way off the bus.
It’s still raining when I finally get off.
I put the coat on, knowing that I will never see him again.
What a shame...
 petitlapinu · Tue Nov 13, 2007 @ 06:25am · 1 Comments |
