Shattered Sidewalk

I found something that day, something to keep me moving forward, something to alleviate what I was feeling when I had found out both my parents had died. I was on my way to the bus stop to enact one final ride along the city. I wished to ingrain everything I knew into my being before throwing myself into a body of water, or to let the winds carry me to an interminable solitude. It was late winter when I was arriving at the bus stop. I listened to each step as they sunk into the snow of the side walk, and watched as the cloud of my breath formed and died. The sky above was grey, and in the distance as I crawled closer to that bus stop was a grey pole covered in red, and a white bus shelter with a single guest.

I stepped in front of the pole, and peered above to see a road devoid of life. I was about to reach into my pocket, to have one last indulgence into the world above the clouds when I heard a voice from the shelter behind me. My hands were stopped into the body of the needle, and I remained gripping when I turned my head slightly to see if that voice was for me.

She had a white dress on, and her hair was flowing almost endlessly down her neck, covered in what seemed to be silver. Her cheeks were flushed red, but her lips were only a tinge of rose. Her eyes were black and empty, but seemed to have some kind of semblance to seeds.

I tried to listen again, for I didn't hear her quite clearly the first time. Her words were an inaudible whisper in the slow winter winds. I saw her mouth move, but only heard her words a few seconds in advance.

"Are you waiting for the bus?"

It was unnerving at first, but I spoke back, expecting something similar, but getting nowhere near the same result.

"Yes. I am. I don't see why you wouldn't be?" She looked down, her small hands kept in her lap, and she seemed to be looking at something beyond my eyes. There was nothing on that shelter floor, but her focus told me otherwise. She was staring so intently that I almost thought she had passed away right there in the middle of the dead snow.

I looked away, barely able to judge her in my own abated breath before she drew me back. I listened more intently as she did so, finding her voice to be like the whistling trees of the dead winter. There was an even stranger dichotomy when the actual trees surrounding the area began whistling back. Her voice wasn't stinging, nor did it feel as hollow.

"You must not meet many people then." I tried to turn to face her before speaking, but she spoke out in almost a yell, "Don't. Don't turn. You can't look at me." I turned facing the street again, shrugging, and walked into the glass of the shelter, such that I could pull my weight and stand effortlessly.

"You come to bus stops to meet people?" As my back was turned, I couldn't tell whether she was taking her time thinking, or if it was the lull in her voice. That silence in-between was far more deafening than I would have ever expected.

"It's the best place to catch people without their guards."

"Without their guards?"

"I'm just a stranger, and so are you. Most people won't care for a simple exchange of words. How about you?"

"I guess after this bus ride I won't ever see you, so it wouldn't hurt." I could feel her nod. The silence blew across the snow, and I wondered if this meant that she wanted me to continue, or if it was just a pause in her again. Soon enough, she coughed, and then she began speaking again. Her voice was trailing this time, wistfully into a world I couldn't see.

"Where are you going then?" She asked.

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"