The Girl, The Bridge, Her Home, and The Crossing

This short story is inspired from this week Monday Memories Writing Prompt picture. My first image from this picture is about a girl, waiting for a bus in a rainy night. The theme itself might already being used by many people, but, oh, well…… Ahh, sorry for any mistakes in grammar. Writing story sure is haaarrrrddd… I wonder, which is better/right, in story telling, should I wrote the story in present tense or past tense? Btw, thank you for reading and don’t hesitate to review it. Thank you. ^^

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Image Source: creativewriting.ie

#1 – The Girl

It always rains here, as far as I can remember. Fog filled the air. Clouds stayed up there, blocking what we used to call sun. Our bus fog lamp swept the road in front of us with its bright light. Slowly but sure, our bus approached the next bus stop. I kept looking through the window, and…

“We have passengers here,” I said wryly.

Mr. Bus Driver smiled to me, “You should get rid that gloomy face of yours.”

“Haha.”

Ssssshhhh…

Our bus’ door opened. I saw a family, at least that what I thought; a father and a mother in their late thirties, and two boys around ten or twelve; all of them were excited to see us. They ran in small steps with their hands in their heads: tried to block the rain off their body.

“Nighty,” Mr. Bus Driver said his greeting as the family entered the bus. The father nodded then instructed his boys to get seat.

“Calm down you two. You hear what your father say,” his wife followed closely behind the children.

Soon after, the bus door closed and the bus started to continue its route.

And, there, under that tree, I saw her again.

Mr. Bus Driver saw her too. He took a glance at me, “Will she try to stop this bus again?”

“Well…”

“I bet for a million dollar that she will.”

“I’m out. I don’t have money that much.”

Mr. Bus Driver laughed hard.

“If you drive this bus more quickly, maybe she can’t catch up.”

“Kiddo, you want to leave a girl in this heavy rain, alone?”

“She should wait at bus stop.”

“Maybe she doesn’t know what bus stop means.”

“Ha!”

And, there, just as I expected, she ran to the center of the road, stretched her hand open.

Our bus stopped.

Our bus fog lamp showered her with light.

Our bus door opened.

And, there, again, she asked the very same question like a thousand times before (okay, I’m being sarcastic here): “Will this bus take me home?”

Hey girl, this is not your personal vehicle!

And just like a thous— err… before, Mr. Bus Driver answered, “Yes.” Only that, without any extra questions.

She smiled and entered the bus. Like usual, she was really, really wet. Water dripped from her hair, her T-shirt… Her shoes left mud traces.

Oh man, please, don’t let the supervisors made me cleaned this bus tonight.

Our bus resumed our journey.

#2 – The Bridge –

 “Those men with black uniform always made me nervous.”

“Kiddo, you still have many things to learn.”

“Yea.. like what?”

“Like.. mmm… not worrying things like that.”

I sighed. “Well, sorry for being a worrying kid.”

Our bus passed the first gate. We were approaching the city bridge. There, our bus will be greeted by some immigration officers who will check our bus and passenger, before we are allowed to cross.

“Kiddo, I bet…”

“A dollar that she won’t cross with us.”

Mr. Bus Driver laughed very hard. So hard that one of the passenger, an old woman with stick that happens to sit behind him, hit his head.

“Ouch, what the-“

“Keep your tone down, young man.”

“I’m not young! I’m supposed to be sixty by now!”

Few passengers smiled seeing those two.

“Okay, back to our bet, kiddo. What’s with a dollar?”

I raised my shoulder, “That’s all I’ve got.”

“Are you afraid to lose, so you even didn’t dare to bluff?”

“I guess.”

And, a minute away, our bus finally reached the bridge. We’ve passed the second gate and by the third gate, we had to stop for immigration checking.

Our bus door opened.

One man with black uniform below his dark blue rain coat entered the bus.

His shoes left mud traces.

I hate rain.

I hate washing bus.

“You,” he pointed the girl. “Out.”

She stared at him with a blank face.

“Out.”

“I just want to go home!”

“Out.”

“No!” she remained in her seat.

And like usual, the immigration officer grabbed her in the arm and pulled her out the bus.

I hear her desperate cry.

The other immigration man raised the portal.

Our bus door closed.

We crossed the bridge.

Again, without her.

#3 – Her Home –

My next two days were enjoyable. I’ve never seen that troubled girl again. My only enemy is the immigration man’s shoes (plus the mud that left).

But at the third day, I couldn’t help to express my curiosity.

“You miss her, kiddo?”

“I’m just wondering, is she being punished by now?”

“Kiddo, please stop your mindless imagination. No one is being punished for wanting to go home. At least for a right reason.”

“So, why she isn’t allowed to cross?”

“That, it is not for us to decide.”

Our bus stopped at bus stop.

A man in his eighties entered the bus.

#4 – The Crossing –

I almost screamed when, after a week, I saw that very same girl waiting at the bus stop.

“It’s HER!!!!”

Okay, I admit it, I screamed nonetheless.

I want to offer the very same bet like we’ve used to, but I was too late.

“A dollar, kiddo. She’ll cross the bridge.”

“Ha?”

“Trust me.”

Our bus stopped.

Our bus door opened.

She entered the bus after a woman.

Soon after, our bus door closed, and we continue our journey. I can’t help peeking on her through the driver’s mirror.

She looked very…

… nostalgic?

“Don’t you dare to think anything, kiddo.”

“What?” I felt my cheek burnt. It must be red by now.

“I know you have that dollar in your pocket. So don’t you dare to runaway from me.”

My jaw dropped. Haha, to think that I’ve caught peeking on her by Mr. Bus Driver….

Our bus finally reached the bridge. We’ve passed the first, second, and by the third gate, we had to stop for immigration checking.

Our bus door opened.

One man with black uniform below his dark blue rain coat entered the bus.

His shoes left mud traces.

I hate…

Whoa.

I can’t believe what I saw, the officer looked content and nodded to Mr. Bus Driver.

Everything seemed okay.

He left the bus.

The other immigration officer raised the portal.

Our bus door closed.

We crossed the bridge.

With her.

“Next bet kiddo, will it be sunny in her funeral?”

“At this season? Nah, it will be rainy up there.”

-Fin-

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15 thoughts on “The Girl, The Bridge, Her Home, and The Crossing

  1. wow. interesting story… it’s true that, in writing, sometimes, what we dont say/write is the strenght of the writing… you didnt tell us, the reader, directly that she’s dead, but we just knew it… 🙂

    • Thanks. 🙂 Just as you say here, before I wrote this story, my main concern is to reveal her death gradually and eventually, and let the reader grasp the message by him/herself.

  2. Ah. So, she is making her way, finally, to her final resting place? That is what I took from it, which is a concept I like. I enjoyed the length, the familiarity yet equal surrounding the characters, and the idea of a bus taking lost souls home. Lovely.

    • Yup, she is. I was planning to write few more parts about the reason of why she can’t cross yet, but somehow, I decided to put them off. I’m glad you enjoyed the length of story. Too long might ruin the mood, right?
      Thanks for commenting. 🙂

  3. Hisashiburi Dhitzuchan 🙂

    Nice to see you have time to write again. It’s a nice concept to write a short, making it into 4 parts and each parts connect to each other.

    Although it’s a sad story but you manage to make it sounds not gloomy and somewhat fun.

    I am curious of why she isn’t allowed to pass.

    Btw, about the tense…I think you can use both past and present, although most people use past tense but some writers use present

    • Thanks for the your comment and info Nov.
      As I wrote in my reply to libraborn, at first I really want to reveal the reason of why she couldn’t pass, but if I did it, I’m afraid I lost my focus, since I must write about the upper world too.

      Anyway, I’ve read your latest horror story days ago, and realized that I forgot to comment on it on my first read.

      Thumbs for the intense Nov. ^^

  4. Short, meaningful, touchy. I like the part where you didn’t reveal that the girl was dead. It gives the ‘final blow’ sense. Great story.

  5. Pingback: Thank You!! – 7×7 Award « across dhitz universe

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