What You Do To Me: Prologue
Disclaimer: I don't own The Simpsons.
Authoresses Note: The reasons for writing this are unknown to me believe it or not. It's my first tragedy I've ever written and the plot just laid itself out in my head in full last night. It is a slash fic just to warn everyone. I hope it's well received and I hope to hear from you.
It was all routine.
Across the road from the Springfield cemetery was a bus stop. A lone woman sat on the bench awaiting the bus that would take her to work. She spent six mornings a week sitting in that exact spot faithfully awaiting the bus's arrival. The last thirteen years of her life it seemed revolved around this simple routine. She would walk to the bus stop, sit down on the bench, wave to the postman making his daily rounds, watch the people walk by going about their daily business and finally board the bus as it pulled up, greeting the bus driver of that day.
Yes, it was all routine.
About a month ago however her routine began to run parallel with another's.
His routine had started after the morning of the funeral. She had seen the crowd of mourners gathered at the cemetery one morning as she waited for her daily bus. He had been a close companion to the recently deceased and his face, lined with sorrow, was easily spotted in the crowd.
Every morning since that day she had seen him walking alone towards the cemetery, his head hung and his hands stuffed in his pockets. She knew that he wouldn't break this routine of visiting his old friend until he breathed his last breath. Like the bus was sure to pick her up he was sure to pay a visit to the cemetery. Today was no exception.
She almost didn't notice the bus pull up along the curve. Climbing aboard, she looked in his direction one last time before paying her fare. She knew she'd see him again tomorrow morning and the morning after that.
It was unknown to the man that anyone watched him. Recently he had been too lost in his own thoughts to pay much attention to anything. He maneuvered his way around the graves as he had for the past month until he found the one he was looking for.
He stared at it sadly and let a solitary tear fall to the earth piled above his friend. Slowly he reached into his coat pocket and produced a single red rose which he laid on top of all the others he had laid there. A months worth of roses.
He bowed his head once before turning around and walking away, knowing that he'd come back tomorrow with yet another rose. After all, it was routine.