Oisin
gone but not forgotten
I was sitting here quietly contemplating me navel when the Devil prodded me agen. I looked through some of me old stuff for inspiration and came up with this. It's the opening of a much, much longer story which, despite it's storyline, believe it or not, I wrote in 2001. So, while we're waiting for the Maestro's next epic poem I thought you might like to have a squint at it.
There was more than the usual number of people at the bus stop and Ian Taylor was third in the queue. He checked his watch. It was seven thirty-eight and the seven twenty-six had not yet arrived. Restlessly and, for want of something better to do, Ian turned his head to peruse the line of people behind him. His gaze moved no further than the girl immediately behind him. She was standing side on, looking into the road, idly watching the traffic go by.
It was difficult to put an age on her. His angle of view did not give him a clear look at her face, but she was obviously of balanced proportions and very well turned out. Her rustic tweed, two-piece suit was expertly tailored with a hip-length jacket, and a skirt that reached down to somewhere just above her knees. A pair of brown leather court shoes with moderate sized heels completed the outfit.
It was not just her dress sense that held his attention. There was also something vaguely amusing in the way she stood – feet slightly apart, while her right knee rhythmically twitched the handbag, loosely suspended from both hands in front of her.
Without warning there was a flick of her shoulder-length auburn hair as she turned to face him full on. He felt his cheeks redden. Trapped in the glare of her bright green eyes, he struggled for something to say – something that might take the tension out of the encounter. She beat him to it.
‘Excuse me… Can you tell me what the time is now?’
He disguised a sigh of relief as he held up his left wrist and pushed back the sleeve of his coat.
‘Nearly twenty to eight.’
‘Thanks.’ She half-smiled before turning her freckled face back to the road. He did consider continuing the conversation, but decided to leave well enough alone. Her body language suggested she was not amenable to idle chatter. The squeal of air brakes, heralding the arrival of the bus, deterred him from any second thoughts.
The line of passengers surged forward. When it came to Ian’s turn, he swung aside allowing the girl on first. The arrival of the bus must have helped to ease her tension, as she thanked him with a more relaxed smile. He fell in behind her and immediately collided with her rear. She spun around. Their eyes met and, for a second time, he felt a flush of embarrassment.
‘Sorry!’ He managed a croaked apology.
She responded with an expression of reassurance.
‘No harm done!’
He watched the cause of the obstruction, a short, dark-haired young man at the front of the queue, fumbling a rucksack into the luggage rack. While he waited, Ian savoured the scent of the girl. He was no expert on perfume, but he knew what he liked, and he definitely liked whatever it was she was wearing.
The hitchhiker and two other passengers in front of the girl took the only vacant seats. With the encouragement of the conductor’s, ‘Move along the bus, please,’ Ian followed the girl until they stood side by side hanging on the grab-rails.
With the bus so crowded he was wary of avoiding any further physical contact. It proved difficult when the conductor came squeezing down the aisle to collect the fares, but he managed to survive for the two stops before seats became available.
The two seats were on either side of the aisle, in line with one another. As soon as the girl sat down she turned her attention to the view across the old lady next to her and out of the window. The view through the window on Ian’s side was across a middle-aged man wearing a trilby pulled down low.
As he watched the pedestrians and shops flow by, Ian began to question his own judgement and lack of self-confidence: Why had he felt so awkward about communicating with the girl? In the queue she had given the impression of not wanting anything to do with anybody. But, once on the bus, her temperament seemed to mellow. That was the opportunity he should have exploited, instead of blushing up like a tongue-tied schoolboy.
He took another sideways glance. He had not thought to look for a ring. Now, because of the way she was sitting, with one hand over the other, it was impossible to establish her marital status. Although the term ‘girl’ was how he had first seen her, she was easily old enough to be married. It was inconsequential. He really wasn’t interested.
His attention strayed to the passing scene beyond the trilby hat again. It was after another two stops that the man in the trilby rose. The girl, who had swung out of her seat, impeded the way the man’s exit. The hitchhiker, Ian noticed, was heading for the rear platform, a few paces in front of the girl. Then came the flash.
Before the full impact of the shock wave ripped the girl off her feet, like a rag doll being discarded by a bad tempered child, the hitchhiker was already flying back through the air.
The combination of the explosion and the force of the girl smashing into his shoulder sent Ian crashing into the aisle. In an instant he was left prostrate, blinded and deafened. The only sense left to him was the acrid stench of toxic smoke, which he frantically sucked into his lungs as he gasped for breath.
It seemed an eternity, but only a short time could have elapsed before he gained the sensation of a painful, high pitched whistling in his ears, and the grey-black shadows beginning to flitter around him.
As the numbness in his limbs gradually receded, he felt every bone in his body begin to ache, while the warmth of a pulsating track of blood trickled down the side of his face. Then the screeching in his ears developed into an awful ranting cacophony of human cries and screams accompanied by the sounds of breaking glass. When his vision became more defined, through the rancid blue haze, he witnessed the full extent of the carnage.
At the far end of the bus, flames licked menacingly at people, strewn over, or slumped, rocking in the last two rows of seats. Still others writhed in the aisle. Nearer to him the more fortunate, blood-splattered victims clutched at their wounds or nursed injured limbs while those who could struggled to escape through the serrated frames of shattered windows.
It was only when he attempted to move his legs that he realised they were trapped under the weight of the hitchhiker. Fighting to free himself, he watched in horror at the way the young man’s head rolled grotesquely on his neck.
Once he had slid clear, he found himself on all fours facing the front of the bus, confronted by the girl’s crumpled body slumped against the forward bulkhead. Her shoeless feet were no more than a few inches away from his head. Dragging himself closer he adopted a position of genuflexion; with his left knee to one side of her legs and his right foot braced against the floor on the other side. Not quite knowing what to do to protect her in the pandemonium around him, he thought if nothing else, he could prevent her from being trampled.
Lifting her left hand, he felt for a pulse somewhere near the gold watchband. He thought he sensed something but it was hard to be sure in all the chaos. Leaning forwards, he raised her head from her chest and held the side of his face against her lips. Yes! He could definitely feel a slight, intermittent breeze against his ear. Dragging himself up beside her, he managed to wriggle his aching arms out of his reefer jacket. Once he was free of it he draped it around the girl’s shoulders. With the lapels pulled high up under her chin, using the sleeve of his shirt as a swab, he dabbed blood off her face. Then, supporting her head against his chest, he desperately prayed for help to arrive...
(To be continued or not, whatever the case may be)
POPPY
There was more than the usual number of people at the bus stop and Ian Taylor was third in the queue. He checked his watch. It was seven thirty-eight and the seven twenty-six had not yet arrived. Restlessly and, for want of something better to do, Ian turned his head to peruse the line of people behind him. His gaze moved no further than the girl immediately behind him. She was standing side on, looking into the road, idly watching the traffic go by.
It was difficult to put an age on her. His angle of view did not give him a clear look at her face, but she was obviously of balanced proportions and very well turned out. Her rustic tweed, two-piece suit was expertly tailored with a hip-length jacket, and a skirt that reached down to somewhere just above her knees. A pair of brown leather court shoes with moderate sized heels completed the outfit.
It was not just her dress sense that held his attention. There was also something vaguely amusing in the way she stood – feet slightly apart, while her right knee rhythmically twitched the handbag, loosely suspended from both hands in front of her.
Without warning there was a flick of her shoulder-length auburn hair as she turned to face him full on. He felt his cheeks redden. Trapped in the glare of her bright green eyes, he struggled for something to say – something that might take the tension out of the encounter. She beat him to it.
‘Excuse me… Can you tell me what the time is now?’
He disguised a sigh of relief as he held up his left wrist and pushed back the sleeve of his coat.
‘Nearly twenty to eight.’
‘Thanks.’ She half-smiled before turning her freckled face back to the road. He did consider continuing the conversation, but decided to leave well enough alone. Her body language suggested she was not amenable to idle chatter. The squeal of air brakes, heralding the arrival of the bus, deterred him from any second thoughts.
The line of passengers surged forward. When it came to Ian’s turn, he swung aside allowing the girl on first. The arrival of the bus must have helped to ease her tension, as she thanked him with a more relaxed smile. He fell in behind her and immediately collided with her rear. She spun around. Their eyes met and, for a second time, he felt a flush of embarrassment.
‘Sorry!’ He managed a croaked apology.
She responded with an expression of reassurance.
‘No harm done!’
He watched the cause of the obstruction, a short, dark-haired young man at the front of the queue, fumbling a rucksack into the luggage rack. While he waited, Ian savoured the scent of the girl. He was no expert on perfume, but he knew what he liked, and he definitely liked whatever it was she was wearing.
The hitchhiker and two other passengers in front of the girl took the only vacant seats. With the encouragement of the conductor’s, ‘Move along the bus, please,’ Ian followed the girl until they stood side by side hanging on the grab-rails.
With the bus so crowded he was wary of avoiding any further physical contact. It proved difficult when the conductor came squeezing down the aisle to collect the fares, but he managed to survive for the two stops before seats became available.
The two seats were on either side of the aisle, in line with one another. As soon as the girl sat down she turned her attention to the view across the old lady next to her and out of the window. The view through the window on Ian’s side was across a middle-aged man wearing a trilby pulled down low.
As he watched the pedestrians and shops flow by, Ian began to question his own judgement and lack of self-confidence: Why had he felt so awkward about communicating with the girl? In the queue she had given the impression of not wanting anything to do with anybody. But, once on the bus, her temperament seemed to mellow. That was the opportunity he should have exploited, instead of blushing up like a tongue-tied schoolboy.
He took another sideways glance. He had not thought to look for a ring. Now, because of the way she was sitting, with one hand over the other, it was impossible to establish her marital status. Although the term ‘girl’ was how he had first seen her, she was easily old enough to be married. It was inconsequential. He really wasn’t interested.
His attention strayed to the passing scene beyond the trilby hat again. It was after another two stops that the man in the trilby rose. The girl, who had swung out of her seat, impeded the way the man’s exit. The hitchhiker, Ian noticed, was heading for the rear platform, a few paces in front of the girl. Then came the flash.
Before the full impact of the shock wave ripped the girl off her feet, like a rag doll being discarded by a bad tempered child, the hitchhiker was already flying back through the air.
The combination of the explosion and the force of the girl smashing into his shoulder sent Ian crashing into the aisle. In an instant he was left prostrate, blinded and deafened. The only sense left to him was the acrid stench of toxic smoke, which he frantically sucked into his lungs as he gasped for breath.
It seemed an eternity, but only a short time could have elapsed before he gained the sensation of a painful, high pitched whistling in his ears, and the grey-black shadows beginning to flitter around him.
As the numbness in his limbs gradually receded, he felt every bone in his body begin to ache, while the warmth of a pulsating track of blood trickled down the side of his face. Then the screeching in his ears developed into an awful ranting cacophony of human cries and screams accompanied by the sounds of breaking glass. When his vision became more defined, through the rancid blue haze, he witnessed the full extent of the carnage.
At the far end of the bus, flames licked menacingly at people, strewn over, or slumped, rocking in the last two rows of seats. Still others writhed in the aisle. Nearer to him the more fortunate, blood-splattered victims clutched at their wounds or nursed injured limbs while those who could struggled to escape through the serrated frames of shattered windows.
It was only when he attempted to move his legs that he realised they were trapped under the weight of the hitchhiker. Fighting to free himself, he watched in horror at the way the young man’s head rolled grotesquely on his neck.
Once he had slid clear, he found himself on all fours facing the front of the bus, confronted by the girl’s crumpled body slumped against the forward bulkhead. Her shoeless feet were no more than a few inches away from his head. Dragging himself closer he adopted a position of genuflexion; with his left knee to one side of her legs and his right foot braced against the floor on the other side. Not quite knowing what to do to protect her in the pandemonium around him, he thought if nothing else, he could prevent her from being trampled.
Lifting her left hand, he felt for a pulse somewhere near the gold watchband. He thought he sensed something but it was hard to be sure in all the chaos. Leaning forwards, he raised her head from her chest and held the side of his face against her lips. Yes! He could definitely feel a slight, intermittent breeze against his ear. Dragging himself up beside her, he managed to wriggle his aching arms out of his reefer jacket. Once he was free of it he draped it around the girl’s shoulders. With the lapels pulled high up under her chin, using the sleeve of his shirt as a swab, he dabbed blood off her face. Then, supporting her head against his chest, he desperately prayed for help to arrive...
(To be continued or not, whatever the case may be)