SOJOURN

Chapter 2: Michelle

Michelle was floating.

She floated in and out of unconsciousness, the darkness of it obscuring the world for a minute or two before the world came back into blurry focus for only a second or two.

She was aware of the pain coming from her head and her wrist.

The world came back into focus. Michelle waited a little while for the darkness to return, but it didn't and the pain came back too. Pain on her forehead and in her wrist.

She blinked a few times as the world came back into focus. She was lying against a sheet of glass — the window — which was a web of white cracks. Her seatbelt was digging into her body, deffing gravity and making it difficult to breathe. She patted her forehead and came back with fingers stained red. A second look only found a small cut, but lots of blood. Her wrist seemed badly bruised, but ok.

Michelle undid her seatbelt and fell against the glass. She winced as some glass cut into her, but she seemed ok.

The same could not be said of the boy in front of her.

Sammy had been thrown from his seat on the other row and had slammed against the window during the crash. His neck was bent in a way neck most definatly are not supposed to bend and blood was seeping from his mouth. Michelle swallowed down bile and looked away. She'd never liked Sammy; he was a bit of an idiot, but she'd never wanted him dead.

The bus had tipped on it's left side during the crash; the right row of seat was now over Michelle's head and were low enough that she had to duck her head to avoid hitting them; any person that had been sitting in them had ether been thrown from there seats onto the left row or was still stuck in there seat, creasy of there seatbelt. A quick glance and Michelle saw other kids rising up above the seats, there eyes distorted as they looked around in wonder and fear. 

Michelle was a very bookish girl. She loved reading. Books were her drug, sometimes she preferred them over people. Books to her were people, and visiting any library was like visiting old friends. She'd adored reading Pride and Prejudice, and Wuthing Heights was another close favourite. Oliver Twist and A Tale of Two Cities had delighted her, she'd laughed at the works of Oscar Wilde and she'd once missed an important History class when engaged in the works of Rudyard Kipling one lunchtime.

Why she liked "old books", as the other kids called them she couldn't say. Somehow, those books spoke to her in a way other books didn't. Maybe it was how the books characters were easier to understand then the people around her and maybe it was because there world of ink and words was a more inviting one then her own. 

Or maybe it was because the characters within never aged or changed. Mowgli was always the same adventurous boy. Sydney Caufield was the same drunk layabout. They never changed. Unlike her world around her.

Michelle's family didn't really approve of this love of books. Mr Jonathan Lane and Mrs Katherine Lane were both lawyers and they both wanted Michelle to be the same. Michelle had even been named after a case her father'd been working on; the nurse attending her mother had overheard a phone call and believe the call, rather then being about clarifying the name of the accused, was over the babies name.

Both parents saw little worth in becoming an artist, which was what Michelle wanted out of life.

"What's the point of it all? Anyone can be an artist...why spoil you time at uni on it?" they would say. And other things, many designed to make her feel guilty about her choice or to make her hopefully reconsider her choices.

It'd been one of those said arguments which had caused Michelle to take the bus over going home with her parents. 

"You know Miss Holling, who's brother's a really good friend of ours, says her legal class's got plenty of room. Just think about it Michelle. Please, just a few weeks. Just for us." her dad had said by the car.

Michelle had grabbed her books and her bag and turned towards the bus. Her father had protested at this, but Michelle said she needed time to think about it.

She'd though she'd regretted her decision back when the first load of boys, all of which stinking of ether BO or deodorant and both of which were enough to make noses turn. Now Michelle was really starting to regret not going with her dad, legal class application or not.

"Ahhh, hello?" Michelle called "Is everyone alright?"

There were several grunts, a couple of "yes"s and a few ahas. Michelle climbed up the side of her seat to see several kids were attempting to climb out of the bus, using the bus seats like stepping stones to avoid the broken windows. Two boys — Jacob and Toro — were helping Thalia out of her seat, while David was checking the emergency hatch on the bus's roof, trying to open it. Sprocket was climbing on the sides of the bus seats like a monkey, scanning the seats for survivors. Saskia and Asami were beating at the bus door with there fists. 

"What happened?" said Fred, a plump boy and the wicket keeper for the boys cricket team. 

"The bus crashed genius." said David. 

"Where's the driver?" said a small girl of about ten. She and a boy of about the same age peeked up from the seat that 

"Dead." said David flatly, with no attempt to hide or sugarcoat it.

"Where's Mr Jenkins?" Michelle said. She hoped he was ok.

"Dead too."

The news hurt. Mr Jenkins was Michelle's English teacher as well as her netball coach. He'd been a nice sorta guy, the kind of teacher who tries to make lessons fun.

"Is everyone ok?" Ty called out. He was standing on a seat a few rows back, a large bruise on his arm and a small cut on his neck the only sign of injery.

The bus door was inexcesable; the bus must have hit something before crashing, because the front of the bus, from the bus door to the third row of seats, had crumpled together like tissue paper

"Better break a window. Toro! Pass me a cricket bat." said Ty. 

"We don't have any." said Toro. "They're all in the compartment at the base of the bus."

"We could us a book." suggested David, holding 

"Ah, guys? That sounds great, but we could just use the emergency hatch." Sprocket said, pointing towards a small hatch on the roof marked in red letters EMERGENCY ESCAPE HATCH and a list of instructions of how to open it.

Jacob looked sheepish. "Ok. That works too."

Sprocket walked across the side of seat, his arms against the other seats to provide balance. He carefully positioned himself on the seat before setting to wok on the hatch. 

A few minutes later there was a groan of metal, a screech that made everyone wince and the hatch sprung open. Light shone through the opening.

Sprocekt stuck his head out for a second then popped back in.

"There's a two meter fall, we can get out easily. But I doubt anyone can climb back up again."

"Who cares? Lets get outta here." said Saskia. She was shaking at the knees.