The Wanderer- Original Writing

The Wanderer- Original Writing

I sat there on the bus, contemplating the abnormal events of the day

and staring at the thick snow that lay outside. It was a long bus

journey back to my house and I had a long time to spend with the not

particularly talkative driver. I think the driver had become

accustomed to my presence as I travelled on the bus every Friday

night. He would always let me on the bus without charging me and wait

for another ten minutes and see if anyone else got on, which they

never did. I had not, for as long as I remember had a conversation

with him, and had for a long time now forgotten the sound of his

voice. The only sound I would hear on a typical journey was the quiet

grumbling of the bus driver and the loud roaring of the buses engine.

Nobody got on the bus this late at night.

I was as I was saying, contemplating the events of the day, when I was

interrupted mid thought by a more pressing realization. The bus was

now stopping. This may seem a very normal thing for a bus to do, this

bus however never stopped except for myself. The bus had stopped to

let on another passenger. I looked forward to this, as my usual

journey would include no human interaction. The passenger was a man,

that I guessed to be in his mid thirties. I took a quick look up and

down him. I looked up and down him again with a bit more detail. No

snow, he must have been standing at the bus stop for a little while,

as buses never come on time, yet he had avoided getting any snow on

him. My own boots were cased in a think slushy mess, but his fine

black shoes were hardly even wet. My jeans and thick jacket, which I

was quite fond of, were no longer covered in snow but were wet from

the snow that had melted in the comfortable warmth of the bus. His