First 3 Random Words Post

Bus, dripping, Determination

He dreaded this time of day.

The final bell rang. He liked to think of it another screaming reminder of how pitiful and lonely his life really was.

Climbing aboard yellow school buses was a daily ritual that all the dorks did. The jocks, cool kids, or those otherwise gifted with some sort of wheeled transportation got home in other ways. But Harold wasn’t cool, or gifted, or anything.

He slid across the green vinyl seat, his faded jeans swishing to the corner, where he crammed himself as close to the window as possible.

“Just maybe I’ll disappear.”

He cracked open a cold Big Red and took a big swig.

The whole place smelled sour with dried puke and sweat and hot plastic.

Harold shut his eyes. Maybe the red darkness would somehow make it all go away.

Three minutes passed. Maybe 20. Sweat had slid from his scalp, down his cheeks, under his chin and was dripping down to his favorite blue T-shirt, making a little round wet spot on his chest.

It was only April, but summer in Texas was determined to show up early.

The lurch of the bus awoke him and jostled the Big Red can out of his hand. Its foaming pink contents erupted on to his jeans.

“Smooth move, retard,” someone said with a giggle.

He wanted to die and take all of the rest of them with him.