My hands are cramping up and I feel the blood circulating and rushing through my arms. My eyes flutter open. I'm still on the bus and it's even brighter than before. My eyes hurt like hell, so, I turn to my right to see Dexter glaring at me with a smug look on his face.
"Damn sleeping beauty, you really put on a show back there," he smirks. I just glance at the seat in front of me, then I look back at him.
"Your eye is looking better," I can tell he's caught my drift of not really wanting to socialize, yet he still tries to break the ice. "I'm Dexter by the way," he stretches his chained up arm towards me and extends his pinkie finger. I bump it with my own; he gives me a charming smile.
"Don't touch each other," Jon Franco scoffs at us. We glance at him simultaneously, and draw our hands away from each other. There's an awkward silence as we look down. I bob my head up and talk at a hush,
"Do you have any idea what's going on here? You know, like, where we're going?"
"Not as of late, but a couple of my boys got word about something like this. I thought it was the popes, with us being pick-pocketers and all. But this? This is some operation looking type of shit."
I turn my head back to the back of my seat and stare for a while. What the fuck is going on?
After 30 minutes of silence and repetitive revaluation, the bus stops. We're in the middle of the woods. A boy in the back starts to scream. We all turn to him.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Dexter shouts.
"This is usually the part where they drag us out one by one and shoot us!" He wails nervously with tears rolling down his face. Dexter smacks his lips and turns to Jon Franco who had several needles clasped tightly in his hand.
"Is it true, are you really going to kill us?" Dexter says smugly. Jon Franco shakes his head causing his face to jiggle.
"Oh? Good. Now, can we all just calm down and stop acting like this is the fucking Texas chainsaw massacre!" He shouts. The boy and a couple others stop their bawling, and the bus grows silent again.
Jon Franco steps towards Dexter and sets his face inches away from his.
"Look little boy, this is my bus, and nobody tells nobody what to do on my bus, but me!" He shouts. Dexter smirked, and took his thumb to wipe some spit off of his cheek, and onto Jon Franco's shirt. Jon Franc's face grew red and he began to tremble with anger.
"Hey, man, just calm down so we can get these brats off the bus, eh?" Says the guy upfront. Jon Franco's face returns to its normal color, and he smiles.
We're walking off the bus and the guy lines us up against the side. Dexter is on Jon Franco's shoulder, hanging off like a rag doll. He looks nauseous, and Jon Franco is beaming with glee. The sun is setting, and the guy who was driving the bus hands each of us small blue books; he gives Jon Franco Dexters book, and he smiles again, and pats Dexters back.
"All right boys," the bus driver begins, "Welcome to Dream Corp. Here you will produce, enhance, manipulate, package, and ship various types of marijuana, also known as cannabis,"
"Woah woah woah, wait, Cannabis?" I interrupt, he opens his mouth, "Yeah, and why?" Dexter pouts. Jon Franco walks over to us with Dexter still hanging of of his shoulder, and plops him on his feet next to me.
"Because little boy," he jabs his finger into his chest, causing his left eye to squint and a scowl to take over his face, "none of you have anything else better to do. You're rats! And you all work here now! No pay, no vacation, no escape!" He shouts.
I tremble and finally swallow to steady myself, "I have something better to do,"
He shifts his head to face me as I stare forward.
He comes eye to eye with me and grimaces, "And what would that be, Pocahontas?"
"Be with my family,"
He pulls his lips to the right, and pricks his eyebrows up, "You ain't got no family, we have all of your files,"
"Well, then your files are wrong!"
He backs up. And glares at me.
"We'll see about that," he says. He walks back on the bus and rumbles amount. We hear him chuckle and he holds up a blue folder as he steps off the bus. He opens it up and begins to recite,
"Marshall Zeddafonz Blu, 13 years old, brown eyes, brown hair, race? Native American hyphen African american, blah blah blah...." His eyebrows furrow and he flips through pages. He stops, "Aha! Right here! Right here in the section of parental mortality it definitely says, ALIVE!" He says matter-of-factly, as he shoves the page in my face. Sounds of confusion waft off of the other boys, and Jon Franco swipes the paper back and re-reads the section.
"Alive? Juano, l-look at this," he walks over to the bus driver. He shows him the page, and they both stare at it together, "See, look, and look at that little star next to alive," they continue to stare contently until Juano finally looks up at me. He smacks the paper out of Jon Franco's hand.
"Whatever, we'll just have to brush it up with Paps after we get these hoodlums situated. C'mon!" He guides us a little further down the woods
YOU ARE READING
Cannabis
Teen Fiction"The air is oddly cold. I feel physical paralysis for a moment. The bus hits another bump. I turned my head and peered out the window. It was bright outside. I squinted a bit, and led my eyes to the heap of dust that we were trailing. Apparently I s...
