The past is a nightmare for anyone with a proper conscience, the present is a limited window into a better way of thinking, and the future...is but a dream. And within it, and it's many exploits, the faint reflection of its presence of future tense births a bastardized incarnation of what we had once lived for. Each man, woman, and child born onto this earth dreams of something beyond their current level of understanding and familiarity, and while sometimes we care to discover the mystique that is needed to bring it out of the shadows it is far more probable to live forever in a haze of ghastly contrast. A wise man once told of those who seek to heartlessly sleepwalk through their lives, not realizing that they would cripple their own chances for happiness on a fantasy that could never breach through their own minds deceit, and continue to do much of the same damage to others. The difference between the two is but day and night, and yet we often cannot let go of the desires we might have latched on to since our adolescence, mine was far more simple then most would have expected: I just wanted to never be alone again. As I had made my way down the street corners and feverishly paced beside a precariously placed bus stop, I couldn't sit still to save my own life and it was of no consequence to myself as I pondered how my own senses had thought so little of her of late. Ever since I had left the hospital I had spent my time lurking in dimly lit alleyways and pairing a pained grin with an even more severely forced smile as I tried to piece the moments back into synchronization, but yet everything I had needed was standing right in front of me. My stomach was churning and I honestly couldn't manage to keep my head far above the ground floor, but yet my own pessimistic nature was calling out to one retort that was steadily becoming the mantra which would steady my hand, a rusted and worse for ware bus screeched to a halt beside myself...and the digitized sign on its front said that it was heading east.

Contrary to popular belief, pessimists aren't seeking others to synchronize with their own beliefs, nor are they attempting to gain a distasteful self actualization: it has less to do with being able to be proven right, and more about simply pleading to find someone who can be up to the task of proving them wrong...about everything. One moment, one breathe, one look, the key to the happiness of one's self is but in those of whom we surround ourselves, and right now there was a small refuge center which I had needed to reach and a mentally ill-equipped mind which was content to poke and prod away at itself all the way there in search of just what to say. Nothing would matter in a month's time, and I may have just been able to live long enough that I would come to scoff at the motions of my mind, but as I handed the driver a crumbled up five dollar bill and sat down in the first available seat I could find it only mattered that I cared what I was doing at this juncture. A soft hum and the occasional bodily noise from the miscellaneous passengers was all that there was to keep me company, the engine revving itself back to life as the metallic behemoth roared up and down the streets at a respectable speed. My attention coasted from place to place, eventually landing on a proverbial sweet spot that was a somewhat distorted reflection of my own face against the smeared and dingy glass window pains, a new face appearing to the left of me as I had noticed that someone had taken the initiative enough to sit down next to me. Now, I go so far as to say that they did this with the clear intention of having me distinguish their prescence more so then anyone else on the bus for good reason, seeing as I had purposely chosen a ratty and torn seat that was being held together with duct tape and an ungodly amount of fool's hope with the thought of avoiding people. And yet, this person had felt so inclined as to say hi, my eyes timidly scrolling to either side to reveal that the mystery individual was none other than a stunning young woman with a remarkable set of eyes that gave off an aquamarine glow...and a flowing mass of blonde hair that was only further captivating with the inclusion of a deeply crimson highlight in the front.

"Can I...help you with something?" I asked her suspiciously, eyeing her up further and seeing her overall rugged appearance and somewhat homely fashion, not in the sense that she was ugly as much as I could say that her once presentable clothing was now well lived in.

"Sorry...I just get a bit jumpy...i'm nervous, is all." She answered amicably, her thickly seasoned accent not being held back from me in the slightest. "I just always get the feeling like you never know what might happen, I just don't feel very safe, ya know?"

"Well, I can assure you, I once snuck into a class on auto-engineering and I can tell you that public transportation is the safest way to travel. This thing is built like a tank, so you'd need some significant artillery to take it down." I did my best to reassure her, one eyebrow still on edge as I wondered what my appeal had been. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?"

"Name's Harley, but it's alright puddin', you don't need to tell me your name...I already know it, Brian." She coldly remarked, with a grin bringing her properly shined lipstick out into the light, she began to calmly fiddle about in search of something in a small over-the-shoulder handbag she had brought with her barring a red and black diamond pattern. "Do you like fireworks, B-man."

The item continued to be obscured by the grasp of her own hands, but she had seemed to have two of her fingers around something attached to the device and whatever it had been hadn't been enough for her to take her eyes off of me. She licked her lips playfully and then I could see for a brief second a minimalistic piece that had several loose wires coming off from the side, and now I could see that her two fingers had been trained on what appeared to be a lever or pulley of some kind. Her eyes lighting up with anticipation, she cranked it to the side and within half a second a series of things happened all around me: an earth shattering blast shattered the dull auditory minutia, a menagerie of shrieks and groans could be heard aloud and what I could only guess was an exsplosion had overtaken the view from our window, a subtle draft had entered through some of the previously opened panes, and as my head turned to the side I was greeted with the not so glamorous discovery that our vehicle had been turned upside down. My own head had landed against a metal railing with an ample amount of force, and from the impact my head was now spinning and my ears had since popped as the ringing is my ears set in fully. My conversationalist counterpart had not been in my vision as my being lumbered wildly and I weakly managed to hold myself up by my own two hands pressing the full extent of my bodyweight against a window which was now beneath my feet. A single, swift strike landed to the back of my head and before I knew it my body was reduced to the ground floor once again, seconds after I could feel a soft hand latching onto my feet and pulling me out of wreckage. Despite the delicate nature of the hand which had grabbed me, I still would be in for a rude awakening as an inhumane amount of strength then flung me across the street and I skidded against the macadam void that was the roadway itself, my hands cut up in a million different places as it felt like I had broken pieces of glass digging into my palms the whole way there.

"What...the fuck...is wrong with you..." I huffed, still trying to wake myself from the nightmare that was my life, and also realizing just how often of late I had found myself asking or pondering that same question.

"I'm just havin' a bit of fun, mista.' What's wrong, havin' a bit of trouble? Maybe a collapsed lung?" She inquired with a bit of false concern, sounding as if I was a small child complaining about a splinter, a soft chuckle sounding as she begin to prance around the street in a circle.