Waiting at a Bus Stop

The story that started a crazy chain of events for me.

It takes a certain type of human to cut the line of an ice cream truck. The scruffy guy sitting next to me on the bus bench looks at me strangely but I don’t mind. The bus arrives and I watch him stumble aboard. The bus driver asks me if I’m getting on. Nah, I’m just here to pass the time. It drives away and I notice an Activia ad on the back of it.

Twenty-seven minutes pass until another human decides to sit on the bench beside me. It happens to be a dental assistant in her scrub. She looks at me apprehensively and then minds her own business while she waits for the next bus to arrive. I break the silence. My uncle wants to put my cousin down because he has diabetes. She raises an eyebrow but that is all. The bus comes and she is gone. I stay for a while. I leave.

This state of mind isn’t where I belong. This land doesn’t make sense. What good is it to be human if you have chromosomes in your body that belong in a Bengal tiger? What good is it to be human if your voice can only communicate one idea at a time? I unplug my brain and drift off into unconsciousness.

I wake up to the sound of a toll booth employee yelling next. It’s Mikah. He’s giving directions to a vanilla pudding cup on where it needs to go in the stomach. Make a left in a mile, then a right after Toni’s pizzeria. If you see Madison Triangle Garden you’ve gone too far. Next. A family of green beans wearing tacky tourist clothing want to visit the kidney. Mikah frowns. I’m only here to help you out with directions in the stomach so beat it you clowns. I leave.

I open the door into a building made out of cloud and see Geraldine. She’s organizing the shelves as she always is. I never talk to her but I like seeing the new shipments that arrive. Calculus midterm. Milk allergy. Stubbing toe on chair. Geraldine owns a store of personal hells. Actually, more like a garden. Customers come and buy her seeds, plant them, and wait for the hells to grow. It’s like hell has become a staple of their diets. I leave.

I’m not supposed to be here but that’s the thrill of it. I watch from behind a bush as a group of about seven blue bloods circle around something humans call a book. Reading is outlawed here but that doesn’t stop them. I try to look at their eyes but no one is looking my direction. Now someone is and I see it. Her eyes have that glossy look of having just read something. What an amazing look that is; it could just have easily been me over there. New knowledge is the most valuable commodity here so it’s only for the elite. The music is chipper and I start to feel drunk and saucy. I leave.

The sun is 99.85% of our solar system but here it’s only 0.15% of everything. Here the sun laughs and pokes fun at volcanoes. Here the sun unboils boiled eggs. The sun isn’t crazy. You don’t have to be crazy to live here, but it helps. I leave.

I eat some of my popcorn and prepare for the second act of an elementary school play. These young crayons are fresh out of the box and have memorized their lines word for word. The play is a reenactment of the Battle of Bunker Hill. A white crayon portraying a general exclaims to his troops. Don’t fire until you see the whites of their eyes. The soldiers all nod in agreement. On the other side of the stage, a barrage of red crayons condensate from the sky depicting the Red Coats. Don’t fire until you see the whites of their eyes the white crayon says again. The Red Coats march closer and reveal that they are all wearing Ray-Ban sunglasses, hiding the whites of their eyes. A massacre of Union soldiers commences. I look at my pamphlet and read the title of the play: The Real Battle of Bunker Hill. I leave.

I’m a stranger to this land but far from strange. A lightbulb named Poindexter is midway through his first drug deal. The dealer is rummaging through the back of his bicycle and pulls out a gram of Elmer’s white glue: the gateway glue to more dangerous and addicting glues. That’s 46 watts, kid. Another lightbulb who is blatantly under the influence of super glue shows up. Hey, Mr. Ball. Please, just call me Tennis, Kayak. Alright, well I’m out of watts but I can pay you next week. No, glow outta here man. Kayak looks at Poindexter. Never try super glue, buddy. I leave.

I reach into my pocket and pull out a telephone pole. It’s finally time for me to plug my brain back in. With the help of two lemons, we pick up the cord and jolt me back to consciousness. I walk back to the bus stop and sit down on the bench. A bus pulls up and the driver asks if I’m getting in. Nah, I’m just here to pass the time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

Comments are appreciated

Reviews

[Moonie]

Haha, that sounds pretty crazy lol...I feel that this was chaotic and absurd in a very orderly way...I felt as if the protagonist was definitely hallucinating whether under the influence of some prescription, some drugs or because of some disorder. Either ways, the way you maintain the pace and your attention to detail makes the whole tale worth appreciating! Good writing!

[Gaston Villanueva]

Thank you, your review means a lot to me!

[Mila]

Congratulations on this story's win in the Need Reviews? I contest! It was well earned!

-Mila

[Gaston Villanueva]

Thank you very much Mila!
This has made my day!

[Mila]

You are most welcome, I hope to see more of your work in future contests! This was a joy to read. :)

[ZackOfBridge]

Loved it.Just the right amount of insanity to start my morning.

[Gaston Villanueva]

Thank you Mr. Puente! I appreciate the kind words

[Chadvonswan]

This read like an Lsd induced dream. Damn Gaston, this was a brilliant third piece. The layering of the story made me fall deeper into this comedic hallucination, and by the end I was bathing in the ridiculously surreal aesthetics. Laughed my a*s off to be honest (:

[Gaston Villanueva]

I'm glad you got a chuckle out of this Chadvonswan! Thanks as always my good man!

[MajorMysterious]

I think my brain just exploded. That was absolutely hilarious and confusing. I especially enjoy history, so your comments on the battle of Bunker Hill was fantastic. "A massacre of Union soldiers commences." I think I about died then. - Scarlett

That was fantastically absurd. It was like traveling through several layers of a maniac's subconscious, where the rules of the world are completely different from ours and rarely explained. I liked the humor as well. You know it's a good story when you can laugh at Confederates with Ray-Bans one moment and drug-dealing lightbulbs the next. -Jasmo (Nico)

[Gaston Villanueva]

I'm glad you both enjoyed it and I feel like you understood exactly what I was trying to convey! I appreciate the comments and look forward to reading your stuff as well!

[MajorMysterious]

Thanks so much. We both enjoy your writing. PLEASE KEEP WRITING, BECAUSE WE WILL KEEP READING!