Chapter 15: From Bussia, with Love, OR, Desert Bus Ride 1
AN: This chappy's name is inspired by a wonderful review, thanks girl! (I think)... I have to tell you guys about this though. You know how my family is Christian, but there's this one atheist cousin and scares me. He's coming over Christmas to stay at our house, but for my trying to tell my parents, like, wtf. Cause I don't want somebody who worships satin to live in my house or something. He might kill the cat. Her name is Amelia Bedillia, after the name of the eponymous character of the book series. I think that's how you spell it. She's a prissy thing, but I love her nonetheless. This chapter's a longy but I bet y'all love it anyways so yeah.
Facing the stars. Side by side. Sunrise. The air crisp. Man. Woman. One.
I ogled the stud. His strapped arms strained against their sleeve restraints. His body was the epitome of cold, loveless sex, but his deep eye sockets leering forward proved his was a soulful face. Said face opened, saying, "Janisa De'Loreal, I see you."
"I see you, Ed."
We commingled. We stood in a bus stop at night, waiting for a bus to stop by. We were headed to the forest. I had told Ed that I wanted to escape this world, and he promised me we could. We would live, he had said, "in a forest," because forests were "far away from everything."
I sizzled his face with my human lips. The cold night air reflected in his flesh. This is why my lips sizzled him.
A bus rolled up forebodingly, its wheels turning. The bus had two front lights and stood at least a hand and a half off the ground. There were several compartments etched into its aluminum siding. The bus driver was invisible in the dark, but for two of his eyes which were lit slantwise by a somewhere lamp. Periodically his other face parts were lit by the glow of a pipe which hung loosely from what I could only assume was his mouth. Some steam obscured his eyes with each tuft of smoke.
Eddy and I entered the bus chamber.
"Whar're ya headed, n' whet da ya plon t' dew der?" the lamp-eyed man said.
"We are headed to Tuolumne Meadows, in the Yosemite. Our business is our own," the terse words.
"Jeez, na need ta gat 'll op 'n erms 'bout nutin'," said the flashlight man, "Go sit yurselves."
"Okay."
We were only the ones in the bus, and we sat in the far back. The back is the best place of the bus, in my humble opinion. Our seats were facing inward despite the backwardness, though, so we were looking across the aisle at empty chairplaces. The rest was deserted, like a desert but without tumbleweeds. However, there was a coincidence in terminology: the bus was situated in a desert!
The two-armed cactus silhouettes like in Mexico were all over the place. You know, the ones with their hands up like a bank-robbee or a standoffish cowboy without a weapon. "Don't shoot," they seemed to speak, but their silhouettes bore no defined meaning. There was uncertainty.
The bus ricketed along the road, its wheels turning. The two flashlights attached on the front end illuminated only the black of the road and the dirt at the sides. Suddenly, this description failed to apply. A puffy man with a fedora hat pulled low over his eyes, mysteriously wearing a concealing, thick trench coat, stood on the road's side-paneling. His thumb stuck out convincingly.
Our bus rolled to a stop, its wheels slowing. The hydrophobic doors pff-hawed, opening. "Migh' I heelp yew?" the flashlight face man said.
The zaftig slowed up the steps ominously, and nodded. "I'm looking to leave this place. I don't care where I go, as long as it isn't here."
The plump flesh moved down the aisle and sat crossways from us. We could not see his hatted eyes, but Ed telekinesised me that "he is looking at us, because my Vampire sense says so."
The man's face erupted, the mouth opening: "Hello."
"Hello," we said unitedly.
"Who are you?"
"I am Janisa De'Loreal, and this is my boyfriend Edward Cullen. Who are you? And how did you come to be like this?"
"The story has much girth," he hinted, "But if your interest is pure, I could persist in it."
"We have the time," I punned, as this has double meanings. It can also mean that we know what time it is. Incidentally, that was also true, because Edward had a Rolex Watch on his righthand wrist.
"Okay. My name is Old Ben Bernadinberg, but everyone calls me Old Ben. If you call me Dr. Bernadinberg, while that would be true, I would call you 'Mrs. Janisa De'Loreal,' and we'd put an end to that in no time."
I gasped.
"I have liven in this desert for a longer time than you know, since before your birth most likely. I see your skeptic look Edward, but it is the truth unless it is not, believe me. How I got to be here is no important matter. Suffice it to say that I was tricked. Alas! for I have yet to get back at the trickster. He brought me here, and told me that the secret to Guild Wars, a classic game from many time along, was hidden in the shifting sands. And while I looked, he left." His face was squint-eyed but I could see the tears drooling down.
"You see, I had many enemies. I was, how do you say, an important person. And importance can be shown to construct a set of enemies. Hence, we can prove by showing that there's always a way to construct such a set from importance, every important person has enemies. Therefore, I can be shown to have had enemies.
"One such enemy, as I was speaking, abandoned my plump form in the shifting desert sands. Desolation could not describe my bleakness in those times. I searched for many days before I noticed that none of my characters were even at level nine yet... my computer had died of dehydration. My grandkids, whom I was helping win at the game, were no longer with me. And I noticed I had been abandoned. It was a sad time. If any of you would like to take my grandkids to the zoo when we get back to civilization, I'd appreciate it. Last time I saw them in person, we had gone to a penny museum, and I think they might like zoos better." Old Ben cried earnestly, the tears on his streaking form.
"Here's the problem whose baffling presence has prevented my escaping: nobody has gone through this desert and survived, ever. This road is cursed, and every bus or car that tries to pass on it is killed. This bus is the first that made it so far... far enough. I would have walked out of the desert, but I was too cursed. The curse was broad, and its source was the enemy I referred to in the earlier part of this story. He was a Werewizard: half man, half wizard- a werewolf's favorite food, by the way.
"I have certain skills. Combining them with the bus driver, whom has made it thus far, should be able to survive us. And we can end this road. I will go help this bus man now." And then Old Ben removed his seat and stood, his chubby belly squirming. During the story his glasses had been removed, and had been held on the shelf formed by his stomach. He now replaced them on his face. His eyes opened, making a squishing sound. It was clear: He had not unsquinted in many years. He must have been very serious about bus driving.
"Bus driver," he delivered. "It's time for me to drive." The bus driver tumbled out of his seat and the wheel careened into Old Ben's hand as he latched on at light speed. He had to move fast. The bus lurched, its wheels spinning, and the gas pedal had been depressed far down. Petal to the metal. Flying. The sense of inertia. Out of control. Racing. A quick escape. "Bus driver! Give me your pipe, the source of your power! I can't hold back much longer!"
The bus driver slammed the pipe into Old Ben's face. He puffed and the steam abdicated itself from his nasal passage. "I'm done fucking around. It's time to get serious. You want to mess, road curse? Well, how do you like this?"
Old Ben's eyes turned red as he powered up. His explosive face transformed. The hat flew off his head and span out of the bus window. The wind whipped and whined, and the old bus man cried and screamed, "Oh Lordy, Lordy!" and he shook and shivered and the wind went BUSY-BUSY- KAZOOOOO! The trench coat began to dissolve with energy and the true form of the man in the seat was revealed, wearing khakis and a flannel shirt. The red eyes burned with energy (we could see them, by the way, because in the nighttime windows are reflective, and we were watching him by proxy of the front window).
The action intensified. The wind continued, busy, busy, BUSY-BUSY-KAZZOOO! KAZOOO! And far off in the desert the sound of a cursed voice trailed, "You cannot escape! You cannot escape your destiny! Who's driving the bus? Who? WHO?"
AN2: Hey so this chapter was a bit experimental, I like to push the limits. Let me know how it do.