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wightknight) wrote2014-12-06 02:14 pm
wightknight) wrote2014-12-06 02:14 pm
Premonition (PG-13)
"Washington Circle coming up. Next stop: Washington Circle."
She is sitting on a faded gray bus across from a baby in a stroller.
Everything is terribly foggy. Her head seems filled with wool; she cannot remember boarding the bus or having any particular destination in mind. She does not usually take the bus. Her school is within walking distance of her home, and her time is spent at one or the other.
The infant across the way squirms and launches a stuffed giraffe out of the stroller. She frowns, absently reaching for the toy.
Where is its mother?
She feels a sudden chill down her spine - where is anybody?
The bus is nearly empty...
She takes a quick breath - Washington Circle is not a wholly foreign place. It isn't as if she's lost. Emma from tennis lives in this direction. She will take the bus to Emma's house, and she will ask her for a ride home. Something is very wrong with her, she is sure, and Emma isn't usually one to say no.
Her head feels slightly clearer. She leans forward and drops the toy back in the stroller.
"That's Washington Cir -- "
There is a sound like a thunderclap.
She feels, rather than sees, the vehicle smashing through the side of the bus. One moment, she is looking at a sheet of metal bearing a sign advertising for an online college - the next, she is sprawled on the floor.
It is far too late to leap away, but she tries to, anyway.
She cannot. ...Something has lodged in her stomach, and she is pinned to the floor in a contorted position.
She was wrong - there are many people on the bus. Or what ought to be people. She can see them now. The blood. The tangled limbs. The staring eyes. Close beside her, a woman lies in a pool of dark liquid with her head bent in the wrong direction.
She is the right age to be the baby's mother.
Where is the baby?
Its wails sound in the next second, and she is a bit surprised by the relief that floods through her. Some part of her is strangely satisfied. There is no pain. And there are many worse ways to die than being in the way of a truck smashing into a baby.
It cries louder. Louder and louder with each breath, pounding almost... rhythmically.
She doesn't mind. She wills it to keep crying.
Louder...
Louder...
----- Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.
"Get up! You're going to be late for school!"
She awakens to wetness on her cheeks and the realization that her pillowcase is soaked in tears.
She starts to cry again, anyway.
It is the most vivid and realistic dream she's ever had in her life. She has never seen or felt anything so violently real - immediately, she has the distinct thought that it is a premonition. Her mother scolds her for watching too many gory movies. Her father, more sympathetic, offers no commentary and asks if she wants a ride to school. She has no particular desire to be in a moving vehicle, but she is already ten minutes late, and she cannot stand to listen to her mother's unwarranted reproaches. In the idling car in the traffic circle, he writes a note hinting that she has been having issues of a feminine nature.
She rolls her eyes good-naturedly.
She is at the age where she prefers her father to her mother.
The homeroom teacher accepts the note with a sympathetic nod. When she starts to cry quietly again halfway through the morning announcements, he glances over and asks if she would like to see the nurse.
The rest of the day passes in a daze. In class, she passes in her assignments and spends the rest of her time staring blankly at her desk. She isn't called upon even once - in the back of her mind, her suspicions that her teachers gossip about her are strengthened. At lunch, her friends chatter and laugh to fill in her silence. Halfway through the meal, she realizes there are three pudding cups on her tray and none on her friends'. They pointedly ignore her when her searching eyes glance their way.
She feels a little better afterwards.
When the final bell rings, an anxious voice startles her out of her day-long stupor.
"Hey!"
It is Aaron from Honors Chemistry.
"I... I heard you weren't feeling well. You still on to meet at the library?"
She stares uncomprehendingly.
"It's fine if you can't."
It is less that she cannot and more that she has altogether forgotten. She is back on after a long gasp and a stammered apology. The project is due in three days and is worth 25% of their final grade. The prospect of failure is more terrifying in several ways than the prospect of gruesome death.
Still, she decides that she will not take the bus to the Washington Circle Library. She consults the bus schedule. There is a second line going directly north. She will disembark at the Terrence Avenue stop and walk twenty minutes' west. She needs some fresh air, anyway.
Her excuses made, she waves as the others board the Washington Circle bus. Part of her wonders if she ought to have warned them - but they were not in her dream.
The north line pulls up seven minutes later.
A feeling of dreadful familiarity sweeps over her as its doors squeak open. All the city buses look the same... There is still, after all, time enough to turn around and walk.
But it is an hour's walk. And it is not even the right bus, besides.
She gingerly takes a seat.
After three stops, the bus is nicely filled. There are no infants or strollers as far as she can see. She mentally chides herself for having wasted a perfectly good day.
"Hey, folks."
The crackling of the intercom interrupts her thoughts.
"I'm hearing word of a, uh, major accident ahead. We're making a detour - going to, er, take a little more time. Sorry for the inconvenience, folks."
Her heart catches in her throat.
Could it be -- had what she feared actually come to pass? Her dream... had it really saved her? She cannot help the intense flood of relief that sweeps through her. Somewhere, somehow, something had thought fit to warn her, and she is sitting here now alive and well. There is guilt, too - some small amount. Should she have said something? Would they have believed her? Surely no city bus line would stop running just because a schoolgirl had a bad dream. She remembers her friends and snatches quickly at her phone. A text to Aaron is returned promptly mere moments later.
She has nothing to feel guilty about.
What is important is that the accident has happened... and she was not in it.
Her heart lightens tenfold as the bus slides to a stop again.
"Again folks, there's been a major accident up ahead. Going to, uh, make a detour left here. Sorry again, folks - nothing we can do."
Across from her, a man stands to offer a seat to a grateful woman struggling up the steps - she pulls a stroller up behind her.
"Swinging around now towards Washington Circle. We're gonna make a, uh, quick stop for you folks if you need to change buses or, uh, to the metro."
The baby coos and reaches for its toy.
"Washington Circle coming up. Next stop: Washington Circle."
It is a stuffed giraffe.
"That's Washington Cir --"
She is sitting on a faded gray bus across from a baby in a stroller.
Everything is terribly foggy. Her head seems filled with wool; she cannot remember boarding the bus or having any particular destination in mind. She does not usually take the bus. Her school is within walking distance of her home, and her time is spent at one or the other.
The infant across the way squirms and launches a stuffed giraffe out of the stroller. She frowns, absently reaching for the toy.
Where is its mother?
She feels a sudden chill down her spine - where is anybody?
The bus is nearly empty...
She takes a quick breath - Washington Circle is not a wholly foreign place. It isn't as if she's lost. Emma from tennis lives in this direction. She will take the bus to Emma's house, and she will ask her for a ride home. Something is very wrong with her, she is sure, and Emma isn't usually one to say no.
Her head feels slightly clearer. She leans forward and drops the toy back in the stroller.
"That's Washington Cir -- "
There is a sound like a thunderclap.
She feels, rather than sees, the vehicle smashing through the side of the bus. One moment, she is looking at a sheet of metal bearing a sign advertising for an online college - the next, she is sprawled on the floor.
It is far too late to leap away, but she tries to, anyway.
She cannot. ...Something has lodged in her stomach, and she is pinned to the floor in a contorted position.
She was wrong - there are many people on the bus. Or what ought to be people. She can see them now. The blood. The tangled limbs. The staring eyes. Close beside her, a woman lies in a pool of dark liquid with her head bent in the wrong direction.
She is the right age to be the baby's mother.
Where is the baby?
Its wails sound in the next second, and she is a bit surprised by the relief that floods through her. Some part of her is strangely satisfied. There is no pain. And there are many worse ways to die than being in the way of a truck smashing into a baby.
It cries louder. Louder and louder with each breath, pounding almost... rhythmically.
She doesn't mind. She wills it to keep crying.
Louder...
Louder...
"Get up! You're going to be late for school!"
She awakens to wetness on her cheeks and the realization that her pillowcase is soaked in tears.
She starts to cry again, anyway.
It is the most vivid and realistic dream she's ever had in her life. She has never seen or felt anything so violently real - immediately, she has the distinct thought that it is a premonition. Her mother scolds her for watching too many gory movies. Her father, more sympathetic, offers no commentary and asks if she wants a ride to school. She has no particular desire to be in a moving vehicle, but she is already ten minutes late, and she cannot stand to listen to her mother's unwarranted reproaches. In the idling car in the traffic circle, he writes a note hinting that she has been having issues of a feminine nature.
She rolls her eyes good-naturedly.
She is at the age where she prefers her father to her mother.
The homeroom teacher accepts the note with a sympathetic nod. When she starts to cry quietly again halfway through the morning announcements, he glances over and asks if she would like to see the nurse.
The rest of the day passes in a daze. In class, she passes in her assignments and spends the rest of her time staring blankly at her desk. She isn't called upon even once - in the back of her mind, her suspicions that her teachers gossip about her are strengthened. At lunch, her friends chatter and laugh to fill in her silence. Halfway through the meal, she realizes there are three pudding cups on her tray and none on her friends'. They pointedly ignore her when her searching eyes glance their way.
She feels a little better afterwards.
When the final bell rings, an anxious voice startles her out of her day-long stupor.
"Hey!"
It is Aaron from Honors Chemistry.
"I... I heard you weren't feeling well. You still on to meet at the library?"
She stares uncomprehendingly.
"It's fine if you can't."
It is less that she cannot and more that she has altogether forgotten. She is back on after a long gasp and a stammered apology. The project is due in three days and is worth 25% of their final grade. The prospect of failure is more terrifying in several ways than the prospect of gruesome death.
Still, she decides that she will not take the bus to the Washington Circle Library. She consults the bus schedule. There is a second line going directly north. She will disembark at the Terrence Avenue stop and walk twenty minutes' west. She needs some fresh air, anyway.
Her excuses made, she waves as the others board the Washington Circle bus. Part of her wonders if she ought to have warned them - but they were not in her dream.
The north line pulls up seven minutes later.
A feeling of dreadful familiarity sweeps over her as its doors squeak open. All the city buses look the same... There is still, after all, time enough to turn around and walk.
But it is an hour's walk. And it is not even the right bus, besides.
She gingerly takes a seat.
After three stops, the bus is nicely filled. There are no infants or strollers as far as she can see. She mentally chides herself for having wasted a perfectly good day.
"Hey, folks."
The crackling of the intercom interrupts her thoughts.
"I'm hearing word of a, uh, major accident ahead. We're making a detour - going to, er, take a little more time. Sorry for the inconvenience, folks."
Her heart catches in her throat.
Could it be -- had what she feared actually come to pass? Her dream... had it really saved her? She cannot help the intense flood of relief that sweeps through her. Somewhere, somehow, something had thought fit to warn her, and she is sitting here now alive and well. There is guilt, too - some small amount. Should she have said something? Would they have believed her? Surely no city bus line would stop running just because a schoolgirl had a bad dream. She remembers her friends and snatches quickly at her phone. A text to Aaron is returned promptly mere moments later.
She has nothing to feel guilty about.
What is important is that the accident has happened... and she was not in it.
Her heart lightens tenfold as the bus slides to a stop again.
"Again folks, there's been a major accident up ahead. Going to, uh, make a detour left here. Sorry again, folks - nothing we can do."
Across from her, a man stands to offer a seat to a grateful woman struggling up the steps - she pulls a stroller up behind her.
"Swinging around now towards Washington Circle. We're gonna make a, uh, quick stop for you folks if you need to change buses or, uh, to the metro."
The baby coos and reaches for its toy.
"Washington Circle coming up. Next stop: Washington Circle."
It is a stuffed giraffe.
"That's Washington Cir --"