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Waiting at the Bus Stop

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Waiting at the Bus Stop The 161 was always late. As I waited, I reminisced back to the many journeys I had made on that bus, glancing around to the familiar surroundings that I almost considered my second home. I looked fondly at the grey pavement with cracks the council had promised to fix many a time but, unsurprisingly, had never done so. I surveyed the black chewing gum dotted around everywhere that looked slightly like a piece of life-size abstract art that belonged in the Tate Modern; I wondered what it would symbolize. I felt the cold, hard plastic seats beneath me; saw the deteriorating council and their unkempt gardens; heard the heavy drone of cars on the nearby dual carriageway; smelt the pungent scent of urine left as debris of an over-indulgent night out. The gentle autumn breeze lifted the leaves-all shaded different hues of red and gold-into a gentle seasonal dance. Droplets of rain began to fall heavy and fast, before long water was streaming down the edge of the road. ...read more.


They spoke of my baby sister who had died who had died at just eight weeks old. At the time, everyone had tutted and sighed about the tragedy of cot death. It was as if she had never been born after the funeral; the death had been swept under the carpet and never mentioned again. Now, however, a new twist had been unearthed. My mother screamed about how she always knew it was not cot death, the screams descended into despairing, mournful sobs, my uncle turned on his heel and walked purposefully towards the stairs; I knew this was my cue to sprint to my room. Those snatches of conversation had haunted me ever since. The slam of a car door brought me back to reality with a jolt. I saw, only a few metres away, my uncle stepping out of the car. My mind took over any rational thoughts there may have been and as he walked briskly along, I stood up, brushed myself down and began to follow. All the time I kept my eyes fixed on the short, slight figure about 50 metres not too far ahead. ...read more.


I felt my anger rising at the way he so casually treated my family; I gripped the cold, metal object in my pocket. "I was sat in your sister's room, I watched her sleep and felt the kind of yearning that I had never felt before, she began to cry. Something inside me flipped and I covered her head with a pillow. Suddenly, I realised what I was doing and stopped but it was too late" I felt rage burning and bubbling in the pit of my stomach as I grasped even harder. I wanted to make him sorry for all those years when each year my birthday wish was for my life to be as it was before. To avenge my sister's death. Make him pay for those shards of normality that I was so thankful I had no choice. I gripped the gun, aimed, closed my eyes and pulled the trigger. A shot echoed through the trees, causing birds to take to flight from the trees above. Other than that, complete and utter silence surrounded me. The smoke from the gun cleared to reveal a limp, pale corpse. I feel empty. Numb. ...read more.

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