Cold metal wraps around My arms, all the way up to the elbow. The little pieces and machines jitter and chime as the bus bounces along sad asphalt. A chain connects my wrists together, dunno what for, as the forced bracelets should be enough to deter anyone from tryina run from this hellbus. I overheard the fat pig of a busboy say we are goin to the green room, whatever that means. I'd try and pass time by lookin through the grime slathered windows, but guess what? Some lobotomite decided to wrap em up in black leather. Why leather? As if the stagnant air wasn't enough? I can smell that busboy from here, and that aluminum man standing next to him too. Rancid stink of copper-cigars swinging their way down the sad hall like a red dame into Detective sucks office. Blue blue blue, orange orange orange, you know why they wear blue and we wear orange? Contrast. I bet you it's that. Cus we gotta be separate from em, lest their cold petrified hearts feel mercy on us here. They don't don't want us to have similar locations on a chroma board, let alone social standing, or power. Then they got the audacity to freak out at us when we don't want nothing to do with em? Whatever. Seriously though. You're gonna put leather on a tin foil bus wrapped together with razor wire and glue? Was this to kill us off from heat? Lack of air? Pure boredom? The only respite from this fresh metallic hell is that red haired girl a few rows ahead. Why they are mixing men and women in the prisons here? No clue. Maybe one of the few blessins of the Green room. She's sitting still up there. Stiletto blade sittn over the vascular of a hostage still. The kind of utter complete and full body solidity that Medusa's lovers have in common with psychos that can't express their sweltering rage for all living things they hate. It's honestly kind of hilarious. The only thing that moves on her is that swiveling head, matching one to one the movement of the cigar wielding copper slag. I think I can see him breaking a sweat. Not because of the horrid machining of this mobile mortuary however, no no, of course the sect up front has air conditioning. No i mean he's not used to being the prey in the eyes of an apex predator.
The death-box comes to a screeching halt, solely due to the lack of any lubrication in the wheels because of course it doesn't have any. I don't even think this bus was supposed to be used, from the rust and the chipping paint I'm fairly sure this was dug from some dump. But if that's the case, why go through the effort of digging it if your not gonna actually fix it at all? Or perhaps, tis I the fool? I haven't gone on a bus in years. Maybe this is just the standard, not like they are all that common anymore anyway, least not since the- uh. Well we don't talk about that time anymore. Anyway, yeah the coagulated rust rectangles Sahara-dry wheels finally stop, and here we are. Id tell you where I was, if it waSNT FOR THIS STUPID LITTLE SLIVER OF LEATHER. You know what? Despite the metal holding em together, I shove my fists into the black sun-shield. Hard to get a grasp on it at first, but hey, I don't mind the taste. Bit of tooth got a hole big enough to slip the fingertips into, rip it from there. Strips of leather land on the cut open foam seat, I think that red haired Goldie is staring at me now. The sound of a grown man biting and gnarling in public does that to the ladies I guess.
“Can you stop?”
Shot in the heart. Felt my arms lock up, along with my jaw. Immediate headache. Maybe the headache was just from me realizing the damage I’m doing to my own skull. Started tasting blood at the same time, stuff was drippin down my chin. Turn my head the best I can, I can feel the primal powers that be telling me to book it out that window as soon as possible. It was her. Bloody eyes, though I couldn't see any cuts, any damage. Looks more like it splattered there. Could barely tell where her hair started and the gore-show begun, cept for the gold circles sitting around her pupils.
"Thank you.”
She breaks her gaze. Few clicks counter clockwise and shes eyes locked toward the cigar-boy ahead again. It was at that moment I realized how much damage I had done to the window sheathe, and myself. My fingers? Black specks under the nails, dirt covering almost all the surfaces, drips of blood on em too. The window? Oh, let me tell you, I ripped up that devil. I cut it. Shredded it. One could argue, obliterated. But guess what? Guess whats behind the leather? Oh, glass of course its a window. But you know whats behind THE GLASS? ANOTHER LAYER OF FLAYED COW. My two options were made clear, give up and cry, or beat my head into the leather-bound cooked sand a few times till it either broke or I died. Actually there was a third option, but I don't want to talk about that. Anyway. The other inmates start standing up. Funny term right? Inmates? Cus we’re mates “in”side of a prison? I guess? Doubt any of us will be mates though. More likely enemies. Inemies? No that sounds stupid. Rows next to me and ahead are almost all clear, cept for the man in the back that's been awfully quiet since I got on. Maybe he was here before I was?
“Get up. Stop rambling you schizophrenic. Its annoying”
She cornered me in my own domain. Her hair like a vampire squid about to wrap its tentacles around its prey. All I could muster out myself was;
“What???”
“You’ve been half mumbling this entire drive. The drives done. Is the mumbling going to stop too?”
Her hands were caked in gore. Like a butcher that decided to use a pigs stomach as a dollhouse for a little too long, cept their doll was actually a crackhead that ripped apart her ex boyfriends apartment. It took a good while for the ancient terror to wash away, far too long. I don't think she blinked a single time that entire interaction. Maybe even the whole drive come to think of it, her eyes look bloodshot. Those eyes look as cracked as the metal walls. She didn't even say anything afterword. She just walked out the front, cigar-boy disappeared before she even turned her head back round. I don't even blame him.
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