Inconvenience

I wait at the bus stop waiting for my bus to arrive and take me away from the place I wanted to leave. A light breeze blows passed me as I looked down upon my feet and the tarmac beneath them. I look across at the house opposite and although the thin white lace like curtains are in place, I swear I am being watched by the strange old women in there.

I hear a rumble and relief washes over me as the bus rounds the corner at the end of the road in the distance and begins heading for me. It is of course ten minutes late compared to the time it says on the timetable.

But that's something we have come to live with.

The big red vehicle pulls up in front of me and bus doors hiss open, a few people slowly make they're way off before I can make my way aboard. I ask the driver for the ticket of my desire, I already know the price but he tells me it anyway. I reach into my pocket for the note I placed there ready for this moment, I place it down and feel guilty because the note is a lot bigger then the price and bus driver's always have a problem with this. He takes my note and gives me my change; I take my ticket and head up the bus looking for a seat. I pick an empty seat; no one really wants to sit next to anyone else when they travel alone on a bus. I sit and curse myself for feeling guilty for giving the driver a large note, after all this is a service and a business, they should be prepared for that sort of thing.

But they very rarely are.

The bus moves off and I stare out at the scenery that I have seen many times before.
The bus stops and starts as more people get on and off. We travel through the towns suburbs before heading on to the motorway towards the city.

People chatter on the bus, mindless boring chatter about their boring lives in the town. Mainly old people who are slightly outraged at how society has changed, and changing still since they ruled the land, there is a loud man who is annoying me at the front talking to his friend.
He has a beard.

We are now on the motorway and travelling fast, but we soon hit trouble on the roundabouts, the driver begins to dither about, letting cars go before the bus and generally going slower as we approach the city.
The man in the beard makes a loud comment in the direction of the Driver; it was not a nice comment and not designed to make the Driver feel happy. The Driver is in his forties and only gives a quick glance in the mirror back at the passengers and the bearded man making the comments.

The journey stretches. It has passed the time that we were meant to meet with our destination. People are becoming uncomfortable. I find myself trying to will the traffic out of the way and the bus to go faster, none of which works, or ever seems to work. The Driver is visibly getting annoyed with the chatter of the brainless passengers. The Bearded man is still making comments, only louder and directed straight at the Driver with the intent of scolding him.
The Bearded man insults the Driver's skills, the Drivers competence, the price of bus fares and the way in which he drives. The stupid and dull chatter on the bus has taken a different turn; everyone is talking about the bus, the Driver or the bus service in general. All complaining about some experience or other that they had encountered while on a bus or waiting for a bus. I just stare out of the window in the hope that the journey will soon end.
The tension builds up, the journey had taken far too long and people were becoming restless. The Bearded man still taunts the bus Driver.
Suddenly we come to a stop!
I look around to find that we have not arrived at our destination but have pulled up on the road side; the Driver sits head in his hands.

"What the hell have you stopped for!?" Cries the Bearded man now upon his feet,

The Driver glares at the Bearded man in the mirror then dismounts from his seat and steps out into the isle of the bus, he is sweating and looks visibly shaken, almost trembling.
He opens his mouth to speak.

He begins yelling in the style of man who had been locked in a room with a man who could only talk about the weather none stop for forty-eight hours and was about dig his way out of the room with his own shoes.

The Driver yells at no one in particular, but the Bearded man had retaken his seat, he appeared a little taken back by the power of the Driver’s voice. The Driver yells about his job and about the shit he has to put up with ever since he'd started and he'd been doing this job a long time.
The Drivers face is red with anger; he waves his arms about in all directions in an effort to express himself. The veins on his head stick out. Yet the complete sorrow and loneliness in the man's eyes show.

The sounds coming out of the man's mouth were that of hatred for his job and hatred for dealing with the public everyday.
Sweat pours off the Drivers forehead and his dark eyes darted around the bus in scared fashion.
The Bearded man speaks. "Are you going to fuckin' drive or what, pal?!" He spits out, sitting up straight with his arms folded.
Something happened. Something within the Driver snapped or died. The colour drained from his face as something all the more hideous took over.

The Driver moved his hand behind his back and pulled out a metallic object. To the shock of the bus crowd he had produced a gun, a small hand pistol.
He whipped the gun out and pointed it shakily at the Bearded man’s head clutching the weapon of destruction in both hands. The Bearded man looks shocked and is instantly transformed to a defensive posture and begins muttering things in a pathetic way trying to calm the Driver down, trying to apologise for the things he said and trying not to anger the Driver in case his finger twitched a little too much from a surge of blood from his heart.
The Driver's face looks empty and hollow; all the life appears to have left his face. He slowly looks over the blank and frightened faces of the passengers slowly moving the gun over everyone in the bus, looking everyone in the eye. As he looks over me I swear his eyes are saying "Bastard, you gave me the large note!".

Then his Driver's eyes just look down at nothing and loose focus and he just stands there, gun in hand.
A passenger mumbled something and the Driver's consciousness is snapped back into reality. His eyes shoot around his immediate surroundings and new realisation seems to enter his head.
To the shock of everyone the Driver raises the gun to his head and pulls the trigger.

Part of his brain jettisoned out of his head on to the window to his side, some passengers are sprayed with blood and bits of flesh as the Driver's body drops heavily to the ground.
People are crying now, a few screaming, no body really moves, someone is calling someone else on a mobile phone.
I just turn my head to look out of the window and wonder how much longer it will take to get me to my destination.