Disclaimer: I am TheQuillowTree. I wrote about a bus on a bus. Wouldn't JK Rowling get more attention and $ writing under her own name? Huh, guess that means I'm not JK Rowling. Wow, I guess I don't own Harry Potter either. That sucks. Please review!

A Bus

A bus, bound for who knows where.
A woman, tries to remember her children's faces. She has been gone for too long.
A man, takes a longing look out the window into the blackness and rubs the stubble on his chin. He can't remember the decision he made in the same blackness long ago, the decision that led to his current predicament.
The bus driver. He is only eyes. He drives, he does what he is supposed to. He sees everything on the bus, but he found out the hard way that it's better if he bears silent witness, nothing more.
The young couple catches his eye. They sit near the back, near the toilets. Not a very popular spot. It doesn't seem to be doing anything to quell their passion though. The young blonde boy snakes his hand up the young girls back and grabs her hair, deepening the kiss. It is a humid night. The bus driver wonders at the girls hair. How does she stand it? In the humidity her hair seems to suffocate her, swallow her. She is clearly to distracted to care however, the boy has slipped his nimble fingers under the floral spaghetti straps of the young girls light top. The boy nips playfully at the girl's ear and she let's out a moan.
The sparse population of the bus are starting to stare at the young couple making out on a bus at 3 am. He should do something. The bus driver knows he should. The two have probably been drinking, they probably don't even know the others name.
The shoulder straps of her top are off, revealing slightly burnt shoulders, the dim light setting them on fire. The boy starts to toy with the girls shirt, fingers dancing over her burnt back, never breaking their passionate embrace. There is another moan.
A few glances towards the front of the bus. All eyes are on the couple, dark and fair, night and day, woman and man. All eyes on them, yet they don't seem to care. Their passion is blind.
A few more suggestive glances, unsure. The bus driver knows he has to intervene, that he has to clear his throat, or (god forbid) pull the bus over and go back there. He would prefer option 2. Safer. That way he wouldn't have to attempt some parental lecture about public indecency. He clears his throat, the sound weak and dry. No one notices. He tries again. Nothing. Would these people report him? He has no choice now, the level of the girls shirt is becoming dangerous, and it appears that the boy has no intention of slowing down. The bus driver narrows his tired eyes, steeling himself for the confrontation.

"Hey!"
His facade crumbles, it came out harsher than he had intended. It does it's job though. His shout startled the boy, forcing him up for air. The girl breaks away, sweating, red, and absolutely mortified. Her hair a frizzy mane around the red sun. The boy flashes the girl a look of disappointment that quickly turns seductive. A kinky grin crosses the girls features before she continues to flush with embarrassment. Someone heaves a dry laugh and the young girl seems to be swallowed by her chair, hair and all.
The bus driver has difficulty concentrating on the road. The lights reminding him of the shine in the girl's eyes as she looked at the boy. A girl had looked at him like that once. He had looked right back, eyes cold, features unforgiving.
The driver didn't like to remember. It hurt. It was better to watch, not really caring as the world moved around him. He is forgotten, and so he too forgets.
But tonight, watching them out of the corner of his eye, the bus driver remembers, and though it hurts, he no longer wishes to forget.

THE END