Bad Day part 1

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
What seems to be a regular guy, just having a bad day... Oh, and a kidnapping.

Submitted: April 12, 2012

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Submitted: April 12, 2012

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Have you ever had a bad day? 

Like you wake up on the wrong side of the bed, and realized that you overslept, by approximately 17 minutes? You rush to the bathroom only to find that you ran out of toilet paper, and soap?? You throw on the closest pair of slacks and shirt that are reasonably clean. And to top it all off your car, the one that you just spent a fortune on at the shop, isnt starting for some mystically ominous reason. You hightail it to the nearest bus stop headed in the direction of where you work, whilst checking your iPhone or other ridicuously priced mobile telecommunications device, for estimated route times of that bus and find that after nearly 5 minutes of near sprinting towards your destination, the bus that you need to take had left 10 minutes earlier and the next one comes in 15 minutes. 

You curse inwardly repeatedly to yourself, saying that if you had only checked the route times a little earlier you wouldnt be wearing the shirt you wore three days ago that EVERYONE complimented you on and will undoubtedly notice you making the fashion faux-pas of wearing the same shirt more than once in a week. You briefly think about going back to your home and changing but realize that you wont be able to make it to and back in time for the bus... so you trudge forward, and call your boss, vaguely recalling the last time your she threatened you for being late... 

Something about you being a bad boy, baby oil, spandex and a night that you would never forget. 

The only reason why you cant recall fully is because that morning you went without breakfast and were daydreaming about that bagel and cream cheese your boss had laying on her desk while you were in her office. You THEN suddenly realize with a painful groan of your belly that you skipped breakfst in your hurry to get to the bus. You clutch your malnourished belly with your left hand as you dial the number to your job, getting ready to explain why you are going to be late this morning. You listen to the phone ring, once... twice... three times before someone promptly picks up and speaks to you. You ask to be put through to the Editor in Chief and they put you on hold. You wait about 3 minutes. At this point you have already arrived at the bus stop and you inspect the group of people who are also waiting on public transportation... Your boss picks up and says, "Hello"?, and you get ready to speak. As the first couple of words begin to come out of your mouth, you hear the worse possible sound. 

"Bee-boop!" 
Its your phone. 
And it has decided to die on you WHILE you were on the phone with your psychotic domineering boss. 
You sigh heavily, as if it will make you feel better. 

It doesnt. 

You put your phone away and begin telling yourself that a lot of good days start off bad. You close your eyes and try to remember what your overly calm, overly perceptive and generally creepy therapist advised you to do when you started getting anxious. 

"Close your eyes and breathe deep."

So you close your eyes... Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale." You repeat this until you feel no better than you did when you started it. You open your eyes and see down the road the bus is on its way after what seems to be several consecutive eternities. As the bus nears the stop, you spy in your peripheral vision three men running full speed trying to catch the bus... pity swells up within you and you hold the bus door until they reach it. You are greeted with very huffed and puffed thank you's and other expressions of gratitude between huge gasps of air. You feel as though you have fulfilled your duty to society and performed a random act of kindness to a group of complete strangers. You smile as you take a seat near the middle of the bus. You settle in the chair and you begin looking out of the window... You try to relax and enjoy the scenery of the overpopulated, energy-inefficient, bustling grey city and ignore the assorted sounds and smells of the pocket of the city's population that decided to ride the same bus as you did this morning. This isnt the first time that you have taken the bus to work and you figure that you have about 30 minutes until you get to your stop. Your sub-conscious seems to have already taken note of that fact and is forcing your motor funtions to slow down and your eyes begin to droop ungracefully. After repeatedly catching your self from slamming your head in the back of the seat in front of you, you find a comfortable enough position... and let your subconscious take care of the rest. 
Fountains of Chocolate... 
Highly expressive guitar players on street corners... 
Flying into clouds and tasting them... 
Warm summer breezes... 
Whispers of memories...
 
Cold metal against your temple. 
Voices... 
"Get up." 
Pressure on your arm. 
Gripping chills engulfing your body... 
"Get up. Now." 

You awaken. And your dreams fluidly spill over into reality, enough so that you dont feel any danger. You begin to yawn and look at your watch, the one that your estranged father left when he deserted you and your mother before you learned how to say, "Papa"? You then curse yourself silently towards yourself... its been about an hour since you got on the bus. And while you feel pleasantly refreshed from the bus-nap you are now probably WAY across town and even further away from your destination than you reasonably need to be. You cringe. So you turn around and plan to get up, walk to the front of the bus and ask the driver kindly to stop the bus at the nearest bus stop so you can get off and figure out how the HELL you are going to get on another bus heading the opposite direction when you dont have any change in your pockets. You begin to curse yourself for only carrying around your debit cards, convincing yourself that it is supremely convenient in mobile financial situations after being robbed one too many times in the city... 

But apparently, while you were sleeping, one of the guys you held the bus door for, decided to sit next you. You are met with steel gray eyes and a stone face, cracked with wrinkles and what appears to be a few scars on the surface of his cheek. His hair is just beginning to thin and he carries the scent of fragrant tobacco. Stubble lies on his chin, mottled grey and white. Clothed in a Plain grey T-shirt and jeans and Jacket with a Football team mascot that suggested he was totally in the wrong area code. 

"Don't make a scene." 

Huh? 

Cold metal against your temple... 
That was not a dream. 

You wonder what this absolute stranger could possibly mean. You also can't believe how inconsiderate the guy is and why he is so close you when the bus is not even that crowded. 

Your eyes wander down. 

The faint hint of the unpolished barrel of a Beretta M-9 is unmistakable in nearly any light. 
It takes a moment for you to register. 

You then curse yourself again for not having any cash at a very important time, like right now, when you are about to get mugged. 

You reach for your back pocket. 

"Stop." 

You freeze. His voice makes the hair on your neck stand up. 

" I don't want your money. But you are on the right track." 
Then what could he want? 

Two gunshots erupt from the back of the bus. 

The bus driver slams on the brakes. 

Screams. 

A baby starts crying. 

"Everybody stay put! Open the ##$&@%# doors, driver!! NOW"! 

You look around the back and you recognize the screaming, gun toting maniac as part of the group of guys you held the door for. 

How ironic. 

"Don't worry.", the guy next you yells amidst the mini chaos, still pointing the gun at you," Do as I tell ya, and i won't blow yer head in"! 

Southern twang. 

Despite your life being in very real danger, you can't help but think that this guy is definitely from out of town. 
And that if he really intended on being this close to your face, he could've used a mint. 

That just common courtesy nowadays isn't it? 

The guy yanks your arm towards the exit, totally disregarding your briefcase and jacket. "Come on"!, he yells and drags you, even though you are perfectly able and willing to walk wherever he tells you to,through the door. Outside on the street a Black SUV screeches to a halt behind the bus, and you are directed into the back seat. You are then shortly joined by your captor and the screaming shooting maniac, who jumps into shotgun yelling , "target acquired! Move the #$%& out! Cops are sure to be hot on us"!! Wielding a SPAS-12 shotgun of course. 

No pun intended. 

The driver speeds away, manipulating the steering wheel with great ease. 
"Any trouble?", the driver asks in a voice made of gravel. 
"None at all, 'cept junior here is one hell of a heavy sleeper", your captor replies. 
"Hmph. Just like his mother" 

Who? 

"You know my mother?" you ask, naturally. 

Pain erupts from your ribs. 
"Hunngrh!" 

"Relax Sam.", the driver barks, " He's no regular hostage. Boss wouldn't like it if he came back hurt." 
"Just wanted to see how tough he was," Sam says smiling as he withdraws his fist from my body. 

You wonder why Mr. Steel-grey-eyes-with-south-Georgia-accent didn't just ask. 

Would've hurt a lot less. 

"If you know whats good for you junior, you will speak up when spoken to. Don't ask questions, and you don't get hurt.", the driver says. "Your Father doesn't like people who talk too much." 

What? 
The guy who walked out on you and your Mom? 

I'm sorry; where are my manners? My name is Shane Loft. 

And I am seriously having a bad day.


© Copyright 2019 Ben Oni. All rights reserved.

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