Classroom Four Eight B

<~•| Bus Seat Rival |~•>

The boy plundered through the streets, a spring in his step. A young lad, dusty brown hair swept to one side, with hazel brown eyes that could've been mistaken for yellow. Of course, this boy is not ordinary for as much as anyone could tell. It's not everyday that somebody is hurriedly racing through the snail-paced streets of Rythermere with a trunk in tow. The trunks wheels resisted the destination as they chose to clatter and snag on every pebble and twig. The boy seemed too in a rush to care however, choosing to pay no attention to the racket he were making. A small piece of freshly toasted toast bopped in the boys mouth with the rise and fall of his strides. The toast was suffice to say, putting aside the slightly blackened corners due to a mishap of the toaster and the painfully thin layer of choppy butter that was spread a rather bit too quickly. Rythermere was particularly calming in the morning, the seaside English town lulled in a daze as the coastline was swept by wind and sea. Every street was packed with bricked buildings that choked the horizon, as chimney's poked out of each roof like little fingers grasping for the sky. The boy raced past the shops with their big and mostly daunting glass windows and taunting signs. The bakers and restaurants chefs must've already begun their busy days, he figured. As a strong wind suddenly flooded over the town, his nose was bombarded with the juicy stench of bacon and sausages, the crispness of freshly toasted bread and the sweetness of recently opened orange juice and an odd assortment of jams. He had no time to dwell on his lacklustre breakfast and how he'd much rather be eating a full-corse English Breakfast fit with fried eggs, sausages, bacon, toast, baked beans and orange juice, he had a bus to catch.

His body heaved as fatigue had begun to set in, his bones ached and his muscles throbbed. His mostly empty stomach, besides maybe a biscuit with a small portion of tea, twisted as he made the ascend up a particularly steep hill. He had to catch himself several times as to not let the harsh morning winds buffer him over and play with him like a dandelion. His mind was deadset at arriving at a specific location atop the hill, he was so assured that his eyes refused to tear away from it. This location was a small shelter of sorts, it looked almost like a dainty shed in appearance. The shack had red bricked walls, a tinted metal roof and a long, wooden bench underneath the shelter that's green paint had begun to chip away. Several graffiti markings spray painted on both the interior and exterior had been not so pleasant additions to the already huge eyesore in the street. The council had attempted to restrict the vandalisation by painting over the graffiti, but the war between council and artists was eventually won by the vandals as the council got sick of blowing their budget on a uphill battle. Scratched markings of gang signs and pairings and hardened, chewed bubblegum occupied both the top and underside of the bench making it an unpleasant experience to sit on. And worse? The bench was unbearable to sit on during the winter, unless your intent was to get your bottom frozen to the grimy thing. Suddenly drawn from his thoughts a red blur thundered past and came to a sudden halt at the bus stop. It's doors drew open as the metallic vehicle let out a gritty sigh, coming to a full stop. A grey cloud of fumes puffed out of the rusty exhaust pipe at the rear end of the bus. The boy who had begun to lag behind suddenly picked up his pace again. He watched in panic as a nobody seemed to exit, the bus driver would now have no reason to wait for a straggler. As he reached the top of the hill and drew next to the bus, the boy peered inside. It was so packed as if the bus were a tuna tin, he couldn't see a single available seat. His panic grew bigger. Would the bus driver even be able to fit himself on the bus? A thought crossed his mind of having to hold the infected plastic handles that swarmed with germs and bacteria or sit on someones lap. His thoughts became muddy as he imagined the pure stench of sweat and grime that the bus must compactly hold onto as disgusting troll-like people hogged all the seats.

"Are you boarding or not, kid?" A man had appeared at the lowest step of the bus. The man was petite and lanky, he dawned a muggy maroon uniform with black suspenders, his hat was almost a perfect cylinder with a golden label attached onto the front. What made him stand out was his bushy, hairy, over-grown and bright orange weave of a moustache that took up half the mans face. The boy had to force his expression to remain neutral, he feared what would happen if he dare angered his only hope of arriving on time. "Y-Yes I am... S-Sorry..." He stammered, hauling his trunk in front of him with a grunt. "Hoy' yourself on the bus, I'll deal with that." The bus driver responded impatiently, a frown laced his lips. The boy side-stepped and quickly followed the busman's orders. As he climbed the steps he became hyper-focused on not tripping up the stairs, in that moment it seemed like nothing else would weary him, not even the annoying flickering LED light that hung overhead. As he made it to the peak of the stairs his eyes didn't have long to behold the sight of the front row of preteens and teenagers glaring daggers at him. Behind them was rows upon rows of empty seats, that was odd, he swore that the bus was packed only a moment ago. The boy decided he was taking too much time as the grunts of the bus driver attempting to haul his trunk into the bus had begun to die down substantially. He idly began to walk down the isle of the bus, refusing to meet any of their soul piercing stares. His feet felt as though he was dragging a ball and chain behind him and his legs felt as though they had been turned to jelly.