I grip my book bag, the air is biting at my now pink nose and my winter coat isn’t holding against the icy wind. The wind picks up, forcing my hair in all directions, and making trees merciful.
I turn to my best friend, Quincy,” When is the bus coming?” My air showing heavily, I take in the artic air. She leans in and a small breath cloud flows out of her mouth, indicating her soon to be speaking, but she interrupted by a firm and husky voice.
“Well, kids, the bus will be here in five minutes.” The huddle of students, beside Quincy and I, moan. The voice belonged to our matter-of-fact Mr. Wall, the Science teacher. We, along with everyone else, heavily grunt.
I stare down at my feet; I am wearing my old, ragged, sneakers. The cold is seeking through the holes at the soles. I pigeon toe my feet, and stare up into the sky, the sun is not even up yet and we were standing outside waiting for our field trip bus.
“ Can you believe it’s August?” I glance at Quincy; she is biting her lip, a bad habit of hers. Quincy shakes her head solemnly and shoves her pale hands into her pockets.
Soon, the bus grumbles down the paved road to our schoolyard and brakes. We pile onto the bus, in no orderly fashion whatsoever. Quincy and I slide ourselves into the last seat in the far back.
Quincy slips out her phone and checks the weather.”20 Fahrenheit,” She reads aloud, doubtfully. “More like 10 Fahrenheit,” She muttered.
Quincy and I converse through the bus ride, mostly about the recent news claiming that the world would be at its end today. Quincy ponders if that was true; we wouldn’t be at school this moment.
“Well-“ I start, but I am stopped. to
Start to play Lincoln Park: Burn It Down
We are sliding briskly across the Golden Gate Bridge and we are thrown forward. The bus’ brakes screech, forcing stop that won’t happen. It seems that was it was happening to everyone else.
Suddenly, half the bridge collapses into the sea below us. Shrieks echothe bus walls, alarming everyone.
Our bus brakes just at the edge, saving two teachers, two classes, and one bus driver. I take a sigh of relief, but soon held my breath, the rest of the bridge was sinking into the depths of the sea.
The bus driver’s eyes widen and we swerve uncontrollably, the slippery ice is truly glued to the road. My best friend and I clutch each other out of fear.
But, just like the gravitational pole promises, we went down and there was no way we could stop it. The bus filled with water and the kids in the front held their breath.
I pushed our window down and swam to the surface for air. My heart was not seizing to stop racing, it continued to pound my chest. Fellow students followed and soon enough we were bobbing in the water. I watched as cars and trucks descended into the body of water like bombs.in
Stop Playing Lincoln Park: Burn It Down
“Surface!” Mr. Wall calls out highly. We turn to our teachers and swim for land just before the city continues.
Quincy and I lay side by side, watching the remains of the bridge floating on the surface. The small woods behind us echoed with squirrels and woodpeckers.” Quincy, do you still think that end of the world stuff is still a bunch of BS ?” Her eyes glittered in the sunlight, which was peeking into the sky.
“Who knows?” Quincy shrugged carelessly, as if nothing had happened.
“Who freaking knows.” Quincy grew quiet and wrapped her hands around her knees.
Hours past and Quincy never spoke another word, the hospital came, and gave us blankets. The scanned us for injuries, apparently I had a scar on my back from crashing, but, surprisingly, it didn’t pain me until they told me I had it.
While wrapping my back, Mom came running up. She was wearing a brand new suit, and pointed black heels, but she didn’t mind going through the muck.
She hugged me, and kissed me all over my face. She clasped my hand and dragged me into her car that was sitting just before the bridge started. Mother put me in the front seat and hopped in next to me.
Quincy became a lean figure in the woods as we turned in the opposite direction of the bridge. I couldn’t see all her face details, but I knew she was smiling thinly, a sign of hope for her.
Mom turned onto a street and appropriately braked at the light. “So, what happened anyway?” The occurrence played in my mind repeatedly, always making my heart, skip a beat.
“The bridge split,” I spoke, using the littlest amount of voice. Mother’s eyebrows formed a sideways “C”, going along with her big eyes.
“WHAT?! HOW?!” At the moment, Mom was slamming her hands on the steering wheel and rambling on about how “crappy” and "(a-word-I-can’t- say)” the construction workers were.
© Copyright 2017 Fern Snecker. All rights reserved.
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