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I came to my computer at 3 a.m. determined to write. I have been feeling the need for weeks.  I finally was able to begin the journey with a few steps. I wouldn’t even go as far as to call it a rough draft. Just an attempt to form the things that I see in my head into words. A stream of consciousness from my third eye, I suppose. I spent 30 minutes writing what I saw. I present it here because that is what writing is for.


Who am I?

Cheap plastic rectangle, blue trim, blue italics. A place. Tony’s Diner. Black block letters. A name.

My name is Nikki.

Soft blue fabric surrounds the plastic. White stripes. The embroidered collar of the blouse. Pleated dress. Waitress uniform. Waitress from Tony’s Diner.

Where am I?

It’s dark. I can hear… something. Rattling

Plastic seats, stuffy recirculated air, bored people trying at all costs to avoid eye contact. Chartreuse flowers on burgundy background, olive leaves. A floral fabric rarely seen outside a very specific context. I’m on a bus.

To my right, an empty seat. No purse waiting at hand. Tufts of brown hair curl out from under the baseball cap ahead. On the back is a red star with a yellow bar through it. There’s a smell in the air. The smell of burning. Gasoline fumes. The smell of a crowded bus on a hot day. It is dry and the smells are rubbing the inside of my nose raw with their overwhelming presence.

A bump in the road startles me. It must have been a pothole. To the left there is desolation. It is dry and empty and dead. The plants are small and thirsty. They go on forever. The mountains are just as brown and lifeless. They are far and unassuming. They are pigeons on a telephone wire.

Looking at this broken landscape, I know without doubt that I do not belong here. This is not where I am supposed to be. This place is hostile and foreign and I do not belong here. It is the nightmare that has swallowed me. This bus ride through hell.

A fat lazy fly settles on the rim of the window glass. It is performing its ritual, cleansing its body of the filth and stink of humanity. These thoughts come to me unbidden. How did I get here, Mr. Fly?

Something goes past so quickly that it is almost gone before it exists. A wooden arrow points into the reverse. Tony’s. Best Diner in Alancha Mesa Country. 5 miles. That way. The wrong way. The other way.

“Stop the bus!” I shout. I didn’t mean to do it, but I have to go back. Tony’s Diner is all I have to hold onto. It is the fragile lifeline to a past I might never get back. “Please stop, I have to get off the bus!” I run to the front of the bus. It is already pulling to a lurching stop.

“This ain’t a stop, lady. 5 miles back to the stop.” I can see the annoyance in his eyes. The minutes of the drive ahead are adding up in his mind. I can see the crazy woman’s demands reflected in his pupils. “It’s hot out there, lady. What you want out there?”

“I forgot something.” I pause. “I have to go back.” It only takes him one look up and down to convince him to flip the lever to open the doors. He has already labeled me a lost cause. He wants nothing more to do with me.


One Trackback/Pingback

  1. By Merry Holidays to All « Binary Visions on 29 Dec 2009 at 1:55 am

    […] December 29, 2009 I am going to try to breathe some life into this blog. While it was intended for discussion of my stories written for The Matrix Online, MxO’s time has ended and so I will try to take it in a new direction of its own. This means more frequent posts with other unique pieces of creativity found on the internet, such as Marble Hornets in the last post. This also means I will slowly try to update the “The Matrix Online” page with an arrangement of my former story content from MxO. This means the Watchmaker puzzle, the Joker nodes, the thermal map, etc. I also intend to post pieces from my new story work (such as the lost woman on the bus). […]

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