/lit/ - Literature

He woke up to the blaring of his alarm clock. When he sat up in his bed he glanced over to the emptiness beside him. Automated movements carried him through his morning routine. A volt of pain brought him back to consciousness when coffee seared his tongue. His eyes roved the projected screen on the wall that displayed the morning news. Cloudy with a chance of shitty. With a quick glance towards the couch and loveseat he reassured his dread that he was alone. Old and alone. Wife dead, kids off living lives with their own broken families full of strife. He scoffed at the rising depression and popped his cocktail of pills to stave off the impending heart attack or stroke that was going to kill him or worse yet send him to a retirement community. He put on his work jacket and tied his shoes and headed out the door.

When he arrived at work ten minutes early he was the only one there at the depot. It was peaceful and he knew that soon it would be broken by hooting and laughing of his coworkers so he went to his bus and gently brought it to life. He looked in the mirror and saw the empty seats with the streaming advertisements coming to life in each window. A mixture of anger and dread filled him as the thought of those seats being pack with stinking flesh and the reeking of ignorance.

Nobody of worth took the bus anymore. Nobody going to a job. Nobody going to school. Nobody going to visit their kids. Just a horde of federally pampered heathens going to the mega mall.

He had an itch at his side and his checked his service pistol. Taking careful deliberation he scanned the chamber and bore for any residue or blockage and found none. He then checked the magazine and the three bullets it held. A memory of shooting rifles and shotguns during hunting trips with his father and brother came broken and pieced together but he knew that a weapon shouldn't be made entirely from cheap plastic produced from a 3rd world dumpster. He could of swore that a magazine held more than three measly bullets but he wasn't positive.

The doors of the garage were beginning open and close and noise was beginning to erupt. To his ears it sounded like the primate exhibit at the zoo. It didn't take long before a middle aged dark skinned man with half his uniform on to approach the window of the bus.

“What's goin on Frank you get any pussay last night?”

“Nope. I watched the game though.”

“Shit nigga you gotta get some pussay what you doin in there jackin off?” The black man began to laugh. “Yo Jamel. Dis cracka hidin away jackin off.”

A large black with dreads approached with a large smile that showed off his gums and said. “So thas why you always show up early you in here bustin a nut.”

“Well it's better to start on time then to start three hours late like the rest of you.”

“Dis cracka get his rocks off bein a busdriva. Shit.”

>>10163906

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