A journey to nowhere


It was early morning. The sun was rising gently. Still hid behind the clouds,as if it just woke up from sleep and unwilling to get up. I walked to the bus station as fast as I could. I  saw the bus just as it started to pull away. Without thinking, I took off running. I reached the bus just in time, grabbing the handrail as I jumped on, almost stumbling inside. The interior of the bus shimmered with a grimy light. The seats were  sagging slightly as if resigned to the weight of countless passengers who came and went, always seeking for a seat, seldom finding.The air inside was filled from despair left behind by people who barely spoke of their troubles. Outside, the passing world appeared distorted through glass tinted in hues of dying amber and sickly green.

I sat in the middle row, my spine curved like a question mark.I didn’t notice my posture until I felt an uncomfortable ache in my back.I adjusted myself a few times  and then glanced around. The same trees, buildings,people, chaos were always there. The man at the front with the collar too tight, his neck seeming to resist confinement was furious at the driver for being to relentless about reaching in time. The woman with the wary eyes, holding a bag as though someone might snatch it from her hands at any moment. They were fixtures of the journey, as if they'd boarded long ago and lost all memory of a destination. Or perhaps the destination had never existed.

The driver was a shadowy silhouette, his head slightly bowed as he gazed into the congested street ahead. The bus moved forward indifferent to desire or urgency. It seemed that even the sound of the engine was a sigh, burdened with some vague, cosmic resignation.

As the vehicle drived through traffic, an oppressive monotony descended. It was not boredom. It was deeper, like a suffocating weight of purposelessness. The motion was continuous, yet each stop, each start, had a kind of tragic inevitability to it. Passengers boarded and disembarked as if performing roles in a play they hadn't consented to join.

Pressed my forehead against the seat infront of me , frustrated. Thought about having a nap. Somehow rejected the idea of it.

The city outside stretched endlessly, gray and muted. The bus helper announced the next stop, though his tone was mechanical, almost mocking.I was forever waiting for my turn to get off. For a few seconds I hesitated. I could step off. I could leave this purgatorial loop. But what lay beyond the door? The streets outside were tangled veins, leading to unknown hearts. 

The bus stopped. The door was always open, a brief intake of breath.The bus groaned forward again. Outside, the world kept sliding by, indifferent and endless.

 I was part of the ride. There was no need for destination, no need for decision. Just the journey — endless, heavy, and irreversible.

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