Waiting for the Bus

Waiting for the Bus

“Here you go sweetie!” The stranger said as he held out his hand. His voice was monotonous, nondescript, quiet. She couldn’t place a finger on it, but she took the change anyways. Marianna had been minding her own business when the stranger came up and startled her. She had been so wrapped up with her phone that she hadn’t noticed him.

“Thank you,” she said, looking up.

The stranger was gone.

“What the fu–” she stopped herself. The coin was old, she noticed, heavier than most currencies. On the heads’ side there was a bestial, grinning face. It looked like a weasel-man with horns.

“What the hell!” Marianna fought the urge to chuck the thing. Yes, ‘chuck’ was the right word; she didn’t want to just toss it, or throw it out–she wanted to chuck it, because it made her feel angry and sick. And that horrific face was familiar to her in some way. The one thought that strayed across her mind was that it was happening again.

Before she could even breathe the bus screeched to a halt. All she could do was get on.

‘What’s wrong with this city?’ She asked herself that as the bus continued its route.

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