Deityblog

Pieces of a novel/short story/something or other I'm working on.

There is this girl. Looks very young, with huge slightly-slanted cat eyes. Small hands with thin white fingers clutching a portable music player, the headphones lodged in her ears. She wears a loose white tunic over a light white skirt, ethereal and inappropriate for a cold December morning. A small brown hat covers short dirty-blonde hair which peeks out in angry unwashed spurts.

Coming onto the bus, she moves erratically, lumbering with the gait of a small animal. She sits down in front of me, and I see her tunic has the words "Hadassah Ein Kerem Hospital" on it, along with a mysterious brown stain. She rocks back and forth in her seat, to the music or to some inner rhythm. Her eyes dart from one window to the other. She exudes self-satisfaction and excitement, showing flashes of a smile as if in appreciation of some hilarious private joke. Yet watching her, I am struck by a feeling of deep, unyielding despair, a dark, uncaring past full of loneliness and harsh words. I don't know why.

At the stop right before mine, she suddenly stands up and bounds off the bus to the nearest intersection. A second later, I realize she has left behind a small, black backpack, which now likes half-open on the floor at my feet. I grab the bag and look up, we're still at a red light. I call to the driver to open the door and I'm on the street.

"Hey!" I shout, running toward the intersection, "You forgot something!" I wave the bag in the air. "Hey!" She doesn't hear me. I draw closer, "You left this on the bus!" I'm 20 feet away when she abruptly turns around and stares at me. Then she steps right into oncoming traffic.