“Whose coffee did I piss in?” I mutter to myself, shaking my head as I walk.
I’m getting odd glances, but it could be the sunglasses I’m wearing even though it’s overcast as fuck. I doubt it’s because I’m talking to myself. Everyone does this in my city, that’s not new. I also have my hands stuffed in my pockets with an angry pout, and I’m an overall emo thunderbolt in a sea of happy humans.
My earbuds have been playing angsty music all day while I worked, and I think it’s infecting my entire mood. Or, I could just be a fucked up guy who always has a black cloud following me.
I don’t understand how I’ve had so many close calls. There’s a part of me that wants to stay home and not leave the house, but I swear the outlet sparked at me this morning when I was plugging in my earbud case to make sure it had a full charge.
Not to be dramatic or anything, but I don’t think anywhere is safe. I may as well work at my favorite coffee shop, thoughthe barista who always knows my coffee order mysteriously died. Apparently, he started coughing and went belly up.
Now, I have to get used to a whole new person. I fucking hate new people! I’m awkward, and I’m always worried I’ll end up ordering my drink wrong. Then, I’ll be too nervous to tell them what happened because of my anxiety, which will lead to me shitting my brains out in the coffee shop bathroom.
Ugh, and then out of mortification, I’ll need to find a new coffee shop due to the shame! Argh! Why am I like this?
I’m in my head, making up all kinds of crazy outcomes while I’m crossing the street, completely not paying attention. It’s disassociation at its best, allowing me to spiral out about things that will never fucking happen.
All I know is the little light tells me to walk, so I’m going to follow it.
“Move, you idiot!” a voice yells, shoving me out of the way.
Gasping, I run forward from the momentum, turning as I hear the honking of cars in the intersection. The light is green for the traffic flooding through the street, with lots of people trying to get home for the day.
Jaw dropping, I watch as the guy who pushed me out of the way is hit by the bus driving at full speed, with no one to save him.
What are the odds that this Final Destination shit keeps happening to me? Bringing my hand to my mouth, I force my feet to continue moving until I’m able to climb onto the curb.
“Oh fuck,” a woman beside me says, eyes wide. “You were so lucky. That could have been you!”
“Yeah,” I breathe, shaking my head as I take off my sunglasses and pull up the hood of my sweatshirt.
My heart is thundering in my chest, and my hands are shaking. The blood in the street is very apparent as the bus keeps going, making me wonder if the brakes went out.
“Look! The driver is slumped at the wheel,” someone else yells.
This is a fucking nightmare. The man who helped me is dragged along the front of the bus until his body is torn in half. I gag as his legs and waist tumble free, and the bus crashes into several more cars who were unlucky enough to be crossing the intersection.
Lucky… Oh shit, could I just be having a really incredible streak of luck?! First, I had my cancer cured, then I missed getting hit by a branch that had it out for me, and now the bus?
Wow.
“I need to play the lotto,” I mumble under my breath. I’m not perfect, and I’ll never say that I am.
It’s incredibly morbid to immediately decide I might be invincible, but what the hell else am I supposed to think? No one is looking at me as they all stare in horror at the scene in front of us. That shit is grim.
There’s nothing I can do to help, and I don’t feel like being asked a million questions by the police in a tiny room. Also, the bus finally stopped moving. It’s no longer a hurtling hunk of steel intent on killing everyone in sight, so that’s the upside right?
There has to be an upside, people.
Of course, it only took eight moving cars and several parked ones since the dead driver’s foot was heavy and stuck on the fuel pedal, but hey, it’s done now.
The passengers’ fearful faces are looking out the windows, and they clearly want to get the hell off the bus. I don’t blame them at all. Who gets on public transit only to pray and cry they’ll be able to get right off?
Ten out of ten don’t recommend it.
Someone manages to open the doors to the bus, and the paramedics are climbing on to move the dead bus driver as I edge around everyone watching to walk away.
If I don’t make my escape now, it won’t happen.
Mind reeling at the insanity of the day, I pass up a convenience store across the street for one in the direction I’m headed. I’m a little too shaky still to risk it, even though I feel a bit invincible right now.
