The grey clouds caved in, a thunderous roar echoing in the sky.
A storm was near. The cold gnawed at my cheeks as the wind whipped up heavy downfalls of rain. With no access to warm clothes, I walked a few blocks down from my apartement and arrived at a bus stop. Shame, it was incredibly busy. I shoved my way through the crowd to get under the shelter, being cursed while doing so.
The only sound being heard was the light 'pitter, patter' of the rain on the roof of the shelter. There were about 10 people stuffed in one bus shelter, another 5 outside with umbrellas. Half an hour of waiting and a bus finally arrives, parking outside the shelter. The mob shuffled toward the doors, trampling over my feet. "Watch where you're going!" I cursed, but I wasn't acknowledged. After the mob had finally cleared away, I scoffed and proceeded to get on the bus myself. As I slowly trudged onto the bus, all attention was averted toward me. Everybody on the bus immediately began murmuring under their breath, edging away to make sure I wouldn't sit next to them. "I would appreciate it if you all didn't stare." I said, rolling my eyes. Everybody quickly looked away. I walked through the small row of seats, searching for somewhere to sit. An old woman who was sitting alone waved at me, gesturing toward the seat beside her. 'Thud'. I slouched down on the seat beside her, as she observed every inch of my face. "Am I that interesting?" I groaned, crossing my arms.
"Oh, sorry young man," The lady began, her voice cracking, "You seem to have some blood on your nose."
My eyes widened. That must have been why everybody was looking at me. I had cleaned everything up and gotten rid of the body, but I completely forgot to clean myself up! How stupid of me.
I looked back at the woman and forced a smile. "I usually have nosebleeds. It's an allergy thing."
"Ah, I see!" She grabbed her purse and pulled out a handkerchief, "Here, use this."
I grabbed the rather foul-scented rag and stared at it in my hands. I suppose it was better to use it than leave the blood stain on my face. I used saliva to dampen the cloth and rubbed it against the bridge of my nose.
"Is it gone?" I questioned, handing back the handkerchief.
"Yes, yes it's clean. Also, keep it. I have many more handkerchiefs here in my purse." The lady said, and she went back to staring out of the foggy windows.
The bus stopped. "Ryder Wyatt, your stop!" the bus-driver yelled. I got up and stepped out of the double doors. Fortunately, the pouring rain was now a gentle shower and the winds had stopped. Just as I was about to depart, the same woman from the bus grabbed my arm and yanked me towards her. "Young man! You forgot your painting."
"Painting?" I turned around. In her hand, the woman held the image of Marlowe's wounded body. "Hey that's mine-" I snatched it out of her hand.
"Woah, don't worry I wasn't going to steal it. It's a very lovely painting by the way." The woman said.
I couldn't help but laugh at her sincerity. "Listen, this isn't a painting."
"Oh? What is it then," she asked, bewildered, " I don't have my glasses with me so I can't see very well."
"An image."
"Of?"
"Of Marlowe Davis." I chuckled. Turning away from the lady, I continued walking down the pavement.