a heavy conscience

.

Joan was seventeen and lived near the Greyhound bus station. She rarely ever wore makeup, and when she did, she limited herself to lipstick in a crimson shade which she thought made her look enigmatic. Every day on her way home she passed the long row of red buses in the station and wondered where each of them was headed towards. She had only left her hometown once or twice, and she longed for true adventure. After all, her town was dull; there was never anything to do. Joan's free time was always spent either going to the only decent restaurant in town with a group of her friends or taking the train and going to the library. She could spend entire hours at the library curled up in one of the comfortable couches with a good book. Joan's secret was that she had stolen a couple of her favorite books from the library, all of them paperbacks that easily fit into her backpack. No one seemed to have found out, so it was all right. She always carried them around in her backpack, for no reason at all. The books must have been quite heavy, but Joan never seemed to notice.
    On that Friday afternoon, Rose and Elaine, Joan's friends, had come over, and they were about to watch a horror movie. In the kitchen, Joan opened a bottle of her mother's cheap red wine which would hardly go missing and poured some of it in three glasses, mixing it with cola to make it last longer. She handed each girl her drink and played the movie. It was a slasher film about a bunch of teenagers who went camping and got killed off one by one by the psycho murderer that happened to live nearby. Joan found it quite generic, but her friends were genuinely terrified.
"Oh, no! I'm so sorry, Joanie," cried Rose twenty minutes into the movie. Joan turned to her and saw the red mark where she'd spilled her drink on the white carpet, undoubtedly a result of a jump-scare. "Do you have something for me to clean this up?"
Joan stood up. "Nah, it's okay. We'll just do this, see!" Joan just pushed the sofa forward so it lay on top of the wine stain.
"Look, like new!" Joan sat back down on the sofa and finished watching the movie.
Since it was getting dark, Joan's friends left shortly after the movie. Joan's parents had gotten home and taken control of the TV. Joan pondered what she could do now; it was a Friday, after all. She felt a bit light-headed from all the wine, yet she decided on taking the train to go to the library for a while. She grabbed her backpack, uttered a quick goodbye to her parents, and headed out.
    The train station was empty except for a man in a trench coat who stood at a distance. The scarlet neon letters on the screen read:
NEXT TRAIN FIVE MINUTES
Joan waited on the platform. The man in the coat started whistling, so she glared at him. As she looked at his face she saw that it was someone she knew from school. She inadvertently made eye contact with him, and he began to approach her.
"Hey, you're that girl from...History, aren't ya?" he said, pointing a finger at her.
"I guess," said Joan, shrugging her shoulders.
"Where ya headed?" he asked. He pulled out a cigarette and offered her one, which she refused. In the dark platform, his eyes looked like two glowing embers as he lit the cigarette.
"The library."
"Ahh, come on. You can't go to the library on a Friday night. You're killing me, honey!" he playfully touched her shoulder. "Hey, wanna come with me? I know a college party downtown."
NEXT TRAIN TWO MINUTES
"As tempting as that sounds, no thanks."
"Why not? You scared you won't have a good time? Girl, I can show you a good time." He came up close and put a hand on her waist.
TRAIN APPROACHING STAND BACK
"Back. Off. I mean it."
"All right, okay. I dunno why you gotta be so uptight, though." He said, removing his hand from her waist but grabbing her arm. "I mean, seriously girl-"
"I SAID BACK OFF!!" Joan shrieked and pushed him forward into the train tracks, as the train rolled forward at the speed of sound. She covered her mouth with her hands and fell back on the platform, a look of utter horror and disgust on her face as she realized what she had done. She took one look at the tracks and threw up into a nearby trashcan. Murderer. She had become a murderer. With shaky knees, she stood up. Her backpack full of books weighed a ton. Still, Joan ran all the way to her home. She stopped at the door. Joan turned around, walked to the Greyhound station, and bought a one-way ticket to wherever the next bus was headed. With no cash and no luggage except her backpack that seemed to weigh more every minute, Joan boarded the bus, saying goodbye to all she had known.