Fiction Weekend for 4/13-4/15/2012
I did not follow the prompt this weekend. Instead, I continued with the "Soul Collectors: On Miracle Mile Series".
If you wish to read the previous installments of the "On Miracle Mile Series" refer to the links below.
A Demon and an Angel on Miracle Mile: Epilogue
Bridgette left the Starbucks coffee shop and crossed the street as the long-delayed bus pulled into its stop. It was blowing out black puffs of smoke from the engine compartment. The bus’s front and back electronic destination signs blinked “Not in Service”.
The bus’s air brakes made an unearthly hiss as it came to a full stop. The front and side doors opened. The disgruntled passengers got off and formed a mob around the bus stop. The driver got out and handed the passengers vouchers so they can get on the next bus without paying. He apologized for the inconvenience. He locked up the bus and walked away from it.
Bridgette recognized the driver and followed him into an alley. The driver sensing he was being followed spun around and smiled when he recognized Bridgette.
“My! You look so official in that bus driver’s uniform,” Bridgette said, “but you still look like you belong in some jazz band that only plays in dimly lit gin joints.”
“It’s just a temporary gig,” Bob smiled, “besides, I heard you needed help.” Bob then pulled out a long skinny cigar from his shirt pocket. He peeled off the wrapped and placed the cigar’s plastic mouthpiece in his mouth. Next, he held his index finger up close to the cigar end and a flame shot out of his finger to light the cigar. He took a long drag and slowly released the smoke through his slightly flared nostrils.
“Aren’t you afraid that someone will notice what you just did?” Bridgette said with an arched eyebrow.
“Nah,” Bob replied, “most mortals are so caught up in themselves that they don’t notice the things that go on around them.”
“Damn! These Italian jobs are mild,” he said more to himself than to Bridgette. “You know I always wanted to be a bus driver. Back when I a mortal, growing up, I would look out the window from the little apartment my mother and I lived in. The apartment was over a storefront that faced a busy avenue. My room was no bigger than a walk-in closet. I could sit there all day and watch the people mill around going from one place to another or nowhere. I would always make up stories about them. I knew their habits, their patterns, the way they walked. I could predict with a good amount of accuracy when they would pass my building, which stores they would go into, who they would talk to on the street. It was better than television.”
“But the buses and their drivers always fascinated me. By the time I was ten, I knew the bus routes and the drivers by face. They looked so important climbing off the bus like they were military generals stepping foot for the first time on some land they had just conquered. Most of them took a break at the bust stop in front of my building. Some would visit my mom for a ‘quickie’ if you know what I mean. I always wanted to talk to them to find out what it was like to drive a big city bus…but momma would tell me to stay in my room when her ‘customers’ stopped by.”
As Bob spoke, Bridgette studied him. He was handsome. He had that rugged face and chiseled chin that most women liked. His thick, slicked-back, dark hair was hidden under a forest green bus driver’s baseball cap. Her eyes panned down the length of his long neck and watched his Adam’s apple slide up and down his throat. Bridgette’s eyes then wandered over the expanse of Bob’s chest which seemed to yearn to get out of the light green shirt. His chest ended in a “V” meeting at the waistline of his tight fitting forest green pants. Poking out of the shirt’s short sleeves were two muscular arms that seemed to pulsate with prurient passions. His arms were tattooed with the heads of men and women. The heads were placed tightly together in a cluster formation like a honeycomb. The head tattoos faces slowly changed expressions as if they were living. Their faces showed sorrow, pain, suffering and regret. Their lips moved as if they were whispering prayers. The thoughts “Collected Souls: past transgressions; eternal penance” ran through Bridgette’s mind.
As Bridgette the Angel regarded Bob the Demon, a certain stirring resonated throughout Bridgette’s abdomen and worked its way down. A blush slowly rose to her face. Bridgette was shocked that she could have such feelings. But what startled her was the sensation was concentrating just below her navel. This sensation that was new to her. It was passion that she did not live long enough to experience. The feeling delighted yet embarrassed her.
“How’s Cristina?” Bob said startling Bridgette from her engrossed observations.
“For now,” Bridgette said, “she needs medical attention, but she’ll do fine. She is a good girl; she made a bad mistake; and she will make more in the future, but things will work out for her eventually.”
“Didn’t you break a few rules back at the coffee shop?” Bob said.
“Not really,” replied Bridgette, “Cristina was in the midst of a miscarriage by the time I showed up. I just helped speed up the process.”
“With just one touch?” Bob asked.
“Just one touch,” responded Bridgette, “actually it took several, but it worked.”
“What happened to the embryo?” Bob asked.
“Thanks! I’m glad you reminded me,” she said.
Bridgette reached into her large purse and produced the ectoplasmic form of the embryo. It floated in the palm of her hand, and within in seconds in evaporated.
“Where did it go?” Bob said.
“In a few seconds, a young wife will be very excited about the results of her early pregnancy test,” said Bridgette.
“Aren’t you worried that somebody saw what you did?” Bob asked.
“No,” Bridgette said and smiled, “most mortals are so caught up in themselves that they don’t notice the things that go on around them. At least that’s what someone told me.”
Bob smiled, turned and vanished into thin air. Bridgette watched him leave and decided to take a long leisurely walk down Miracle Mile.
"Soul Collectors: On Miracle Mile Series"
A Demon and an Angel on Miracle Mile: Epilogue by Trudge164 ©2012