Dewdrops

Chapter 1- And So It Begins

Rain pounded against the window of the bus as it continued to wind up the bumpy, unpaved road. Dark grey clouds, pregnant with the never-ending onslaught of heaven's tears, spanned as far as the eye could see. A thick layer of fog hung over the vast expanse of nothingness, adding to the ominous scene.

Amidst the dreary setting, the cheerful voice of the local weatherman rang out throughout the inside of the vehicle. "...On the roads today you may encounter some patches of heavy downpour so we encourage drivers to proceed with caution...." As static began to obscure the announcer, the driver, a large, heavy-set man in his mid-50s, gave a grunt and leaned over to fiddle with the radio. The man's blue button down shirt barely covered his most striking feature- an enormous potbelly, which was pressed squarely against the steering wheel. Squinting in frustration, he gave another grunt followed by a forceful smacking of lips and gum chewing as he continued to poke and prod the various radio dials with his meaty hand to no avail.

As the bus passed through another pothole, the six other passengers were all flung from side to side like helpless bowling pins. Directly behind the driver sat two old ladies huddled close together. Both wore sneakers, ankle-length plaid skirts, knitted sweaters, and their hair each neatly tied up in a bun. One of the women was busily knitting away while the other was calmly flipping through a copy of Reader's Digest.

A few rows behind them sat a young woman in her mid-20s. She was dressed in a business skirt and blouse with her blond hair perfectly straightened. Beside her was a large purse that she was rummaging through as she muttered under her breath. With a delighted sigh she pulled out a hand mirror and a tube of bright red lipstick and began to busy herself with applying it.

To her right sat a middle aged man and his young son. The boy, who couldn't have been more than eight years old, was happily entertaining himself with a model airplane. He continued to wave his toy in the air, mimicking engine sounds, as his father lay beside him, completely oblivious and sound asleep.

In the very last row at the back of the bus sat a young man, isolated from the rest of the passengers. Over his crisp navy suit he wore a dark trench coat with the collar pulled all the way up. His skin was of a fair complexion, and there was no mistaking his English origins. His sharp, noble features and neatly combed dark brown hair completed the picture of elegance and regal bearing. His name was Anthony Stanton, and he was nothing short of the definition of handsome.

Continuing to stare intently out the window, the young man curled his lip and snarled in frustration as he heard the squeals of delight of the child. He loathed people. People were always there, poking their inquisitive noses into your business. They waltzed up to you with those sheepish, ignorant grins, attempting to "socialize" and engage you in some half-witted conversation not worth a dime. Useless chatter about your health, your family, or the weather was in his words: simply inane. Some might call him cynical, but he preferred the term practical.

The bus lurched to the right as the driver rounded a sharp corner, which merited a loud exasperated sigh from the young woman a few rows ahead, who had bent down to pick up the mirror she had dropped. At this new sound Anthony's eyes lazily drifted to where the woman was seated, analyzing her slim figure and the way she fluffed her silky, golden hair as she straightened up. Catching his eye, the woman paused mid-fluff to assess the gentleman looking at her. Very much satisfied by his deep brown eyes and tall stature, she flashed him a winning smile and batted her lashes. He returned the favor with a slight turn of the lips and a look in his eyes, which set the lady's cheeks instantly ablaze and her hands once more fluffing madly at her hair. Anthony returned to looking out the window with a contemptuous gaze, content with his appraisal of the woman: an airheaded Barbie.