Hindsight's Passenger

It is a cold night. The rain splashes on the ground and the faint wailing of sirens can be heard in the distance. It is but a sprinkle now, but the dozens of puddles across the darkened street made it obvious that it was a long and heavy rain. Reflecting up from one of the puddles was a disturbed face. It is the face of someone who has seen so much in so little time. The dirt covered face grit its teeth and shed a tear. This person's bus was waiting for him, but he wasn't exactly prepared for the ride. He hesitated and gulped, accepting what he had to do. He stepped on the grungy steel steps and walked all the way to the back of the bus. Without delay, the bus huffed air out from under the cabin and started catching speed. It continued to accelerate until the man couldn't stand up anymore. He was flung to the very back seat and slowly started losing consciousness from the intense speed. After he fainted, he awoke in a field of daisies. It was a familiar sight. His old home, his old town, his life. Memories of a longtime ago back before he made all his life changing mistakes. He stepped out of the field of flowers and looked out on the horizon. A beautiful scene, the sunset on the march and the lake glistening bright orange and yellow. The air was still warm but the sunlight wasn't harsh. Just before he slipped into the content mood he had here as a child, he was struck with bitter cold and the suffocating grip of steel. He was on a hard wood floor, kneeling before a dark suited man. He was constricted by chains and hand clasps, but he did not resist. He was told to stand up and followed him outside of his house. The smell of burnt wood and blood was thick in the air. He followed the suited man down the hall until he was thrown down a stairwell, breaking the floorboards and falling through the ceiling of a burning house. The air was even thicker with bloodied wood and the walls echoed the screams of the dying. He recognized one of the burnt faces, this time feeling terror,confusion, pain, and regret rather than what he felt during his first visit. She was the wife of one of his neighbors, and this was their home. The man felt a familiar urge. An itch to set fire to something, but he did not know what. His craving was regrettably sated by a younger man beside him holding a container filled with gasoline. He opened the bottle with a blank expression and threw it into the fire without remorse. With an explosion the boy was happy, and so was the man. Just then, however, the man started to cry. He was both elated and horrified towards the boy but couldn't put into words exactly how he felt, so he simply smiled with eyes screaming for help. Once the last cry from the flames was squelched, he was flung back into the cold. This time his neck was chained and he was sitting back in his seat on the bus. He looked out the window with dead eyes and bled through his wet eyes. These were the eyes that saw terror, joy, and retribution one day in a burning meadow, on that first visit. The bus stopped. The driver stood up and adjusted his suit. He cocked his head towards the man but did not face him. He did not speak or gesture. The man already knew what he would say. The bleeding man produced a key from his pocket and unchained himself. He dragged himself towards the exit of the bus and began to step off its last gritty step. For a moment, just a moment, he saw the besuited man's face. He wore his own. He cried his tears. He held those same eyes screaming for help. But he also wore a beard. As the man stepped off the bus, he ceased his crying. Instead he was confused just as he was when the boy set fire to the house. He held melancholic eyes. Now there was at last someone else who held those eyes with him.