HOME | DD

Description
The bus was nothing out of the ordinary.  The road was normal too.  And, to any of the other passengers on the bus - all two of them, - so was the destination.  But for me, curled up on the stiff plastic seat with no more protection from the bitter cold than a scarf and jacket, the destination was somewhere just between hell and memory lane.  In fact, I think in this town there really was a road called Memory, but it was something like Memory Ave.  I didn't care much for it because when I last was here there was nothing on it but a few houses and a family dentistry with a bad reputation.

The bus crawled down the main road, empty save for some people meandering about on the frozen sidewalks, grocery and shopping bags clutched in their mittened hands.  From my window I could see the backs of a housing development, a pallid rainbow of homes with a few pleasantries obscuring the illusion of order; playgrounds, blown-over lawn chairs, two treehouses, and even a pool that was undoubtedly now an ice rink.  This simple enough scene seemed to scream, This is normal.  We're just like everywhere else.  There's nothing wrong here.  Please believe us!

But this place was far from normal.  Even if no one here knew it consciously, I could feel it.  In the heart, in the core, there was nothing right about this place.  Each person knew it within their hearts, in the darkest recesses of their minds where they hid all memories they never wanted to relive.  I was reliving mine every inch the bus rolled forward.

You aren't normal, I accused silently, my face contorting into a mix between anger and absolute pain.  Stop

(running)

lying.  I felt the air surge up in my throat, ready to scream Stop lying! out to this disgusting façade, to call out the mask that was fooling with the land itself, the illusion of order...  Surely if I had, though, the old woman beside me would be thoroughly frightened.  She'd probably widen her eyes like they all did, possibly hop to the seat to her right in order to create some space between her and the crazy woman holding herself and screaming out at the window.  I gripped the end of my scarf and turned it over in my fingers.

"Stop the bus," I called hoarsely.  The metal creature obeyed, swaying forward with a jerk and settling back down into the gravel.  The bus driver gave me a strange look as I stepped out.

"This is a dead end, sweetheart," he growled.  "The road ends in less than a mile.  No buildings."

I ignored him and padded off into the snow, ignoring the sidewalk completely.  It was as the old man had said - no buildings.  Not whole ones.  Just the shells of buildings that used to be and no longer were.  Ones that had died painfully, and the rest of the world had turned their heads.  All but one.  I found her quite far from the deserted village.

It was an obvious cave, with a great gaping maw that allowed the dim light to enter for a short distance.  The faintest dripping noises echoed against the rocky walls, becoming so loud my ears felt like trembling.  It was all in my head, though, of course it was.  It was all in my head.  Always has been.

Now, the soul is not a solid thing, according to the Good Book.  It is no more tangible than a

(memory)

thought, or love, or idea.  Yet it can be touched, and it surely can be broken.  And the woman who lay before me had had just that happen to her.  I could see it in her glazed eyes.  If the cave let in any light none of it reached her eyes.  There was no light, no life.  But her chest rose and fell as anyone's would.  She blinked sometimes.  She took no notice of me as I crouched down beside her.

I looked directly into her eyes and knew she was totally, physically, mentally, spiritually, alone.

"You an' me both," I said aloud, and she turned her head the slightest of degrees towards me, her lips thin as if to say I know.

I know this place isn't right.  But I can't leave.

Description
The bus was nothing out of the ordinary.  The road was normal too.  And, to any of the other passengers on the bus - all two of them, - so was the destination.  But for me, curled up on the stiff plastic seat with no more protection from the bitter cold than a scarf and jacket, the destination was somewhere just between hell and memory lane.  In fact, I think in this town there really was a road called Memory, but it was something like Memory Ave.  I didn't care much for it because when I last was here there was nothing on it but a few houses and a family dentistry with a bad reputation.

The bus crawled down the main road, empty save for some people meandering about on the frozen sidewalks, grocery and shopping bags clutched in their mittened hands.  From my window I could see the backs of a housing development, a pallid rainbow of homes with a few pleasantries obscuring the illusion of order; playgrounds, blown-over lawn chairs, two treehouses, and even a pool that was undoubtedly now an ice rink.  This simple enough scene seemed to scream, This is normal.  We're just like everywhere else.  There's nothing wrong here.  Please believe us!

But this place was far from normal.  Even if no one here knew it consciously, I could feel it.  In the heart, in the core, there was nothing right about this place.  Each person knew it within their hearts, in the darkest recesses of their minds where they hid all memories they never wanted to relive.  I was reliving mine every inch the bus rolled forward.

You aren't normal, I accused silently, my face contorting into a mix between anger and absolute pain.  Stop

(running)

lying.  I felt the air surge up in my throat, ready to scream Stop lying! out to this disgusting façade, to call out the mask that was fooling with the land itself, the illusion of order...  Surely if I had, though, the old woman beside me would be thoroughly frightened.  She'd probably widen her eyes like they all did, possibly hop to the seat to her right in order to create some space between her and the crazy woman holding herself and screaming out at the window.  I gripped the end of my scarf and turned it over in my fingers.

"Stop the bus," I called hoarsely.  The metal creature obeyed, swaying forward with a jerk and settling back down into the gravel.  The bus driver gave me a strange look as I stepped out.

"This is a dead end, sweetheart," he growled.  "The road ends in less than a mile.  No buildings."

I ignored him and padded off into the snow, ignoring the sidewalk completely.  It was as the old man had said - no buildings.  Not whole ones.  Just the shells of buildings that used to be and no longer were.  Ones that had died painfully, and the rest of the world had turned their heads.  All but one.  I found her quite far from the deserted village.

It was an obvious cave, with a great gaping maw that allowed the dim light to enter for a short distance.  The faintest dripping noises echoed against the rocky walls, becoming so loud my ears felt like trembling.  It was all in my head, though, of course it was.  It was all in my head.  Always has been.

Now, the soul is not a solid thing, according to the Good Book.  It is no more tangible than a

(memory)

thought, or love, or idea.  Yet it can be touched, and it surely can be broken.  And the woman who lay before me had had just that happen to her.  I could see it in her glazed eyes.  If the cave let in any light none of it reached her eyes.  There was no light, no life.  But her chest rose and fell as anyone's would.  She blinked sometimes.  She took no notice of me as I crouched down beside her.

I looked directly into her eyes and knew she was totally, physically, mentally, spiritually, alone.

"You an' me both," I said aloud, and she turned her head the slightest of degrees towards me, her lips thin as if to say I know.

I know this place isn't right.  But I can't leave.