Fiktion Korner

Part II. of III. He finds his seat, carefully orienting his body to fall into the seat with minimal fanfare. Then he checks to see that all his essentials are secured in their appropriate places -- phone, miniature Japanese day-planner, the mechanical pencil that still has lead in it, wallet, keys. Assuaged of any fear of loss, he now sits, waiting for the determinate length of time it will likely take him to reach his destination. As our bodies are in subconscious communion with the tides, he is similarly privy to the private machinations of this public transportation service, so that he knows within five minutes when he will arrive at any given point in the city. As he sits, his gaze is drawn toward the hatch marked "Emergency Exit," almost directly overhead. It has been opened for ventilation, and the hatch now appears as a disembodied plastic rectangle, its four edges bordered by the things which pass overhead as the bus continues its halting progress. Azure blue, followed by rushing and amorphous black shapes (likely the foliage of large trees), pass through this strange reverse-frame to which he has found access. Then he notices the blood.