Two Worlds Apart

Chapter 1

THE SLEEPING WOMAN WAS JOSTLED AWAKE as the tires of the old bus tumbled over the jutting rocks that lay scattered on the broken pavement tracks. The carrier moved to and fro, the poor driver using all his might to keep the bus on track, his anger slipping out through his words like the cold chill that passes through a snake's scaly body as its own venom pierces it. He shouted: screaming at pedestrians; other drivers to hurry along, one of his arms moved from the erratically turning wheel to slide down his ageing, sweat-streaked face, worry lines printed over it as his anger reached new heights.

The woman leaned back straighter against the uncomfortable seat provided each time the bus trampled over the tiny rocks of destruction - that would no doubt be the cause of the pains she would feel come sunrise. Looking out the dark, tinted, window, her own reflection stared back at her: raven hair once styled to perfection now lost its shine, frizzing up atop her head like she'd been hit by an angered Zeus' lightning bolt, the dress she wore for the party now felt unwelcome as it touched her melted-chocolate skin -- she wished to rip it off -- Tired, sunken eyes, the colour of dark mist looming over a haunted forest stared back at her. She got complimented for her eyes, Doll-like people said. Naturally, that became the one thing she prayed would not become an insecurity, but now her eyes felt heavy; small, as sleep hung over them; the rhythmic, harsh, rocking of the bus didn't help.

Looking away from the window, she caught sight of the drivers pale knuckles as they grew paler, the blood numbing in his veins as he used his strength to carry his passengers to their destination. Safely.

Spots covered her vision, she rubbed her eyes, wincing as the rings she wore caused her pain - the glass window showed there were no marks. She continued rubbing her eyes, started singing songs in her head - her feet drummed against the carpeted floor of the bus - she hoped being active would drive away the demons of sleep till she reached home.

Her eyes stayed locked on the white follicles of hair hidden behind an aged baseball cap worn by the driver, the last sight she saw before her vision went black were the numerous streetlights that would be her key, leading her out of town.

Thank You, for your efforts.

A HOARSE, TIRED VOICE pulled her away from the warm blanket of sleep she fell prey to. Her hands -- much gentler now -- stroked down her face, softly rubbing over her eyes as she slowly got accustomed to the real world. Her soul returned back to her body.

"This is the final stop, miss."

Shaking her head, she looked up at the driver whose hand pointed out the window to the streetlight which hung over the street's name-plate.

99th Avenue, Weston Square.

"The final stop," the driver repeated, "I'm sorry miss, but if you missed your stop there's nothin' I can do."

"No, no, no!" she rushed out, standing up, offering a sheepish, warm smile (Which she hoped masked how disoriented she still felt), "this is the right spot. I assure you, thank you. My homes just a few blocks from here"

With a grunt, the man turned away, walking towards the driver side window and opened the doors for her to leave.

She made quick work of slinging the weightless bag on her shoulder and bunching up her heavy dress, and still supporting the same warm smile, she flashed it once more to the driver, wishing him a good night and finally stepped out of the cramped vehicle, just as the stench of smoke hit her.

He had to stay awake somehow.

She sighed, throwing her head back, her body -- though asleep for probably just a few minutes, felt rested -- it also felt battered, and bruised like she just escaped a harsh battle. The very streets she walked on, being her enemies.