This piece of fantasy flash fiction is from the youngest contributor to Stranger Views, 16 year old Annie Kenworthy. We hope you enjoy reading it as much as we did.
“You can’t get on my bus like that, son” the driver said stubbornly, folding his tattooed arms over the steering wheel with a look of disbelief on his face. He looked at the boy dripping from head-to-toe in wet, slimy mud and shook his head sympathetically. “Sorry, I can’t have you making a mess in here.”
The already seated passengers leaned out of their comfy seats to gawp at the soaked boy at the bus-stop. It was a small, unpopular bus that travelled down small country lanes to a miniscule, remote village, meaning that not much drama ever occurred on this bus, unless you count the time Old Marge accidentally let her cat, Tibbles, lose, which of course wrecked havoc among the more peaceful elders on the bus. The drivers were usually quite lenient when letting on passengers but, apparently this time, no meant no. The young boy made a rude gesture at the driver and stormed back to the grotty bus-stop to wait for the next bus. Everyone else resumed their normal position as they carried on driving amongst the heavy morning traffic, chitter-chattering like mother hens.
Suddenly they found themselves screeching to a halt, throwing the passengers forward with an uncomfortable ‘Oomph’. Everyone started to complain loudly, speculating at the driver about whether the bus had broken down or if he was simply incompetent, when out of nowhere, the bus driver started to scream. Then slowly, as one by one they realised what was the matter, they all joined in too, screaming in a panicked, frenzied manner. All them fixated on the same thing, directly in front of the bus; a girl.
Not just any old girl, the most beautiful, most fascinating, most alluring girl your eyes could ever see; light radiated from her pale bare skin, like an orb of pulsating beauty. Her hair billowed around her shoulders like a delicate pink halo, her pin-prick cerulean eyes seemed to entice you into her image, like she was hypnotising you into falling in love. Around her chest was a single leather corset, laced up inches above her navel, which was pierced with a single silver bar. Her legs and thighs were bare, apart from matching leather shorts, fitted tight around her shapely hips.
But the most striking thing about her were the elegant rose and ebony wings, protruding from her back, encasing the air around her like a guardian of the atmosphere, and out from her silky cherry pink hair were two single, majestic black horns which looked so natural and normal compared to the luminosity she released.
She raised her arm, her palm pointing accusingly towards them ,her hands were covered in metal gloves, which covered her wrist and ended in sharp, claw-like talons that looked like they had been plucked from a mechanical bird, as if to stop the already stationary bus and in a flash of blinding green light, the windscreen had smashed into billions of pieces and fell, painfully onto the driver like a waterfall of crystals, although he still did not react, nor did any of the passengers still gazing in awe.
The young girl, who didn’t look any older than 17, walked effortlessly towards the vehicle, one foot in front of the other like an experienced model on a Parisian catwalk, carrying on past the door, she trailed her finger tips casually along the length of the bus, with the windows rippling and bursting as she passed. Pirouetting, eyes focused on a middle-aged woman with several wounds across her face seated three quarter of the way down; she gracefully walked back until she was stood in front of the woman.
“Where is she?” She said staring into her blank, emotionless eyes. Her voice was low, and she was hissing through her teeth but her voice wasn’t by any means menacing, but more desperate and demanding. The woman in question continued to stare, aggravating the girl even more. She raised her slender right arm and, without touching the vehicle, swept the bus on its side. The agonising sound of metal scraping across the tarmac started the passengers screaming again, causing immense struggle to try and get out of the now smoking wreckage, which had now ignited and was throwing flames around the empty road. The screams had attracted attention, local residents and passers-by were hurrying to the wreckage and fire-engines and police cars’ sirens could be heard in the distance.
“What happened, son? Have a seat and tell us everything” A policeman and a paramedic had helped a bleeding boy to an ambulance, having just arrived, and had sat him on the step. The boy looked up at the questioners with pure fear in his eyes, which were filled with tears.
“There was a girl, she…” He was cut off in mid-sentence by a loud boom coming from the smouldering metal carcass as a small section exploded slightly and landed by a rubber tyre. As a fireman rushed over, the paramedic turned back to the boy, “Sorry, you were saying about a girl?” A look of genuine confusion wavered over the boys face and he stammered, “What girl? There wasn’t any girl?”
If you have written a short story, then feel free to visit Stranger Views submission guidelines and send your story to us.