Tires squealed, and the air smelled of burnt rubber, as the bus suddenly stopped, inches from my toes. The smart-doors opened, and the conductor’s face haunted my eyes. His monotone voice questioned my entire life with the usual sentence, “Where do you want to go?” As much as I wanted to trigger another midlife crisis with a witty retort, I ultimately decided against it, and to return to my humble abode. My eyes jumped around the familiar empty seats as I walked to my second home, the window seat. Whipping my old earphones out, my fingers glided through Spotify, a mind of their own, tapping onto ‘Matilda’ as Harry’s comforting voice blasted my eardrums.
The bus was strangely empty that day, save for one man occupying the front seat. Regardless, I fixed my gaze on the blurring window; the passing green leaves, the old yellow of a light pole painting a Monet in the corner of my eyes. After a tiring day at work, I only desired those few moments of unblinding calm. That's when the universe decided it hated me, the bus engine breaking down , and my thoughts derailing with it.
I stumbled to the front seat and asked the driver what was wrong, my hopes sinking with each word spoken. “The engine blew a valve,” he said, “It will take some time to fix.” The mystery man sighed frustratingly as he descended the steps with me right on his tail.
As we made our way towards the next stop, I realised in a dim fashion the deafening silence weighing upon my shoulders. Accompanied by the occasional crunching of leaves beneath our feet, our steps slowly synchronised, and in that fleeting eternity, I felt a kinship with the weary man sharing my plight.
"You know what I love about clouds?" started the man, his hands hidden in his pockets as he looked up at the vast blue. I shook my head while trying to match my gaze towards the object, wondering what caused him to speak up. “They're like an empty canvas. Those smothering fluffy pillows, just itching to be carved into the next Basilisk."
His lips curled into a small smile as I snorted in laughter.
"What colour would you paint it then?" I asked, still laughing.
"The blinding sun, the paling moon, and all the starry skies, with all of these complimenting the canvas, I might just leave it blank."
Amazement struck me, my heart in awe of the beauty, inching to liberate.
"Do you ever feel like running?"
His eyes glazed as he let out a throaty chuckle, "At least twice a day, but you see, I'm a coward. My soul reaches out to the deepest voids of the sea, but my hand stops my movement beyond the door handle."
"Why escape?" I ask.
"Running isn't always a form of escapism. I want to run, but not away. I want to run towards myself, navigate the maze of my thoughts and embrace myself. I want to feel the pain in my legs as I climb the telephone tower and dial myself. Knowing I won't pick up, because I'm busy spending time with me."
His voice faded out by the end as I looked behind, the pink sky gently kissing my retinas. My hand went to my phone, and the camera transfixed itself onto the melting sun. Only to be blocked by his hand.
"Don't?" he implored. "You already have the real thing right here. Why capture it when you can let it free? Let your eyes dance around the sky, yearning for this warm light even in your brightest."
The bus appeared on the horizon, running on its destined route as the driver halted a few hundred feet away from me. My legs picked up the pace as I started to run, my worries lightening with each step. Panting heavily, I climbed the steps and wiped off the beads of sweat. I looked out the window and saw my unknown companion standing on the street, staring at the clouds. My eyes followed his gaze into the pinkish hue, as I wondered what shape he would carve them next.

© archaios <3