The Last Journey

Written for https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/category/word-of-the-day/

Chloe switched her wipers to the fastest setting as her high beams searched for lonely travellers. She preferred the night shift. There were only a handful of passengers.

George, the first to embark, his back straight, sat at the front. His nightly visits to The Pied Horse, where he drank two pints of its best bitter a routine he never ventured from.

His car silent at the side of the road, no doubt he would pick it up later.

‘Single, please,’ he said, his correct change left on the silver tray.

Two stops down, the doors swished open, and a young boy, no older than thirteen, stepped across the steps. In the many trips he shared on her bus, he never really spoke. Tonight was different.

He tugged his hoodie, the soft fabric brushing his skin, and attempted a greeting. Coins clattered on the tray like hailstones on concrete. ‘Single, I suppose.’

She looked up and briefly covered her hand with his before retrieving the coins. His double tracksuit hid secrets he didn’t want to reveal too soon. He rested at the back and listened to his mobile.

‘Well, that was a first,’ George said.

‘Takes time, you know that.’

Ash is next, her thick winter coat covering the bruises. She smiles and taps her card on the forgotten machine.

‘Evening, George, enjoy your pint? I’ve been Christmas shopping.’

‘What did you buy?’

‘Wrapping paper mostly, do you want to see?’

Chloe’s eyes met her smile when they shared a joke. George showed off his tongue twister, ‘Red lorry, yellow lorry.’

She repeated his words, but went wrong instantly.

Her last passenger steps on the bus and stares at the fog behind, like it will swallow him whole. Chloe gestures for him to climb inside. Even the teenager removed shifted his earphones onto his shoulders. Curious about what he will do next.

‘It’s okay. Where are you going?’

‘Not sure, I was . . .’

‘You don’t have to answer; this night bus will take you wherever you need to go.’

Unmoving, the smooth fabric of the chair pressing against him. His head tilted, a rigid line against the only light, his gaze fixed on some unseen memory.

The air hung still and silent.

‘Anyone for a game of I spy?’ Chloe said.