It was easy to fall asleep on the bus, especially when you knew the route by heart.
He took the same bus home every night after his shift. He had it down to an art, stepping outside just when the bus arrived at the stop. He’d tap his card at the front and then climb to the very back. Anyone who was on the bus at this time usually stayed on the lower level, but the engine provided such a calming droning. He couldn’t help it if his tired eyes drifted close.
He’d wake up when the bus made a particular turn, right before his stop. Only tonight, he awoke to the bus reverberating as it drove over rumble strips, his head bumping against the back wall of the bus.
He sat up, blinking away whatever sleep was left. The fluorescent lights overhead were too bright; they left floaters in his vision and made the sky outside look so dark it was like someone had painted the windows with black ink. He should be home before it got this dark. Pulling his phone out was no use: instead of the time, all that blinked back at him was a red battery symbol.
As his eyes adjusted, his stomach dropped. No one else was on the bus anymore. Had the driver let everyone off and forgotten about him?
“Hey, I think you missed my stop?” He spoke up now that the bus was on smooth road again. Nothing.
“I’m sorry, but I was supposed to get off a while ago.” Honestly, he had no idea where he was now, let alone how far he was from home. Still no answer.
Holding onto the chairs in front of him, and then the poles, he walked towards the driver’s seat. Maybe they just couldn’t hear him over the engine. He grabbed hold of the wall behind the driver and swung around to face them. “Hey, I’m still on….”
The driver’s seat was empty. No one was driving this bus and yet, it was still pushing forward.
The bus started to speed up, knocking him back into a seat. At the same time, the destination sign blinked on, red light washing over the bus. He arched his neck to read it: Route 33. He had never heard of this highway.
No sooner had he read it, the letters and numbers grew fuzzy, becoming unrecognizable symbols. It wasn’t just the sign. All the ads on the bus’ ceiling started to melt and blend into each other, turning into new images, with eyes that seemed trained on him.
He tried to drive the bus, but the steering wheel and pedals were stuck and burned him with every touch. Even the radio seared his skin, but he tried to call everyone, anyone, tears streaming down his face. All he got in response was static.
He felt like a caged animal, throwing his body against the doors and every window over and over. There had to be a weak point, an emergency exit, but nothing budged. All he did was ache and scream and claw at the metallic box that imprisoned him.
He was never reaching his destination.
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