This short story was actually inspired at a writing workshop. Now usually I have a hard time writing things that actually make sense in a set time limit. But this was actually fun and didn't turn out to bad. I was in grade 10 when this was entered in the Spring Journal and won an award. This one i had to read in front of the whole auditorium because it was one of the top winners. I received the Jean Neville Webster Memorial award for this piece.
Here you go, enjoy!
From the minute I stepped on the bus and saw how crowded it was, I knew it was going to be a rough ride. All the seats were taken and there were already people standing in the aisle. I was thrown forward as the city-bus exploded off. My backpack hit something hard when I lurched with the movement of the bus. I heard a deep voice swear. I turned around to see what I hit. Bad idea. The man I hit had a long graying beard and gray hair that hung loosely around his shoulders like a cape that reached his waist. He had a bushy gray mustache that hid a sneer I was sure was hidden underneath it. He grunted under his breath something about taking up too much room. Well I thought, he took up much more room than I.
The bus stopped suddenly, hurtling me into the arms of a very pregnant (or overweight) woman. I wasn't sure, as I had no time to chat, because I was pushed farther into the bus by the new arrivals shoving to get inside.
By this time, I had made my way to the steps of the second set of doors. Facing me was an older lady and a younger woman, who I suspected to be her daughter. In the lady's arms was a small dog. A mixed breed, between a gerbil and a Chihuahua, was what it looked like. The lady smiled at me and I smiled back. No sense in being rude, I was already in enough trouble. The daughter also smiled at me.
"It's Tom's yearly checkup. Mother loves bringing him on the bus because he enjoys it so," she told me. Like I care; I just nodded.
"Do you own a dog?" the lady asked in a scratchy voice that reminded me of the Wicked Witch of the West. Didn't they realize I didn't want to talk to them?
Just then, Tom, the so-called dog, barked and surprised me. I didn't realize vocal chords could fit in a throat that small. The old lady chuckled, "He likes you. Do you want to hold him?"
She thrust the dog at me and I had no choice but to catch him before he hit the ground. I didn't want a dead mutt at my feet; for all I knew, he could have exploded on contact with the floor.
So here I am, bobbing with the rhythm of the bus, with one arm wrapped around a pole for balance, and the other arm holding a dog. The lady and her daughter left two stops ago. Excellent con artists, aren't they? Now I'm looking for some sucker to take the dog so I can escape. It figures doesn't it?
One more stop until mine. Now here comes an unsuspecting victim. I smile.