The bus bounce yet again, this was the third time this morning. Sam sat looking out the window, the rain trickling down the side like tears and dark clouds above.
She hated the bus journey. Every morning the bounces here and there, the unnecessary speeding then abrupt stops. It was dreadful.
What she liked was stories. She would watch, have an eye on each and every person on the bus. They all had characters, traits and their own emotions. They all had something to do, a part to play and somewhere to be in her stories.
As she watched, she’d write it down, creating a Novel, an entire world for then all to dwell and be a part of.
There’s be a man who stood every day on the bus, he’d never take a seat, just stand silently awaiting his stop. This man was a quiet watcher in Sam’s story. He viewed the world but never took part in it. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t.
He’d travel from place to place, in search of something but nobody knew what, nobody knew why. He was a mystery.
Sam would write chapters and chapters about the traveling silent man, as she’d call him and his journeys never speaking.
Two seats forward to the right of the bus sat an older withered woman. Sam took notice of her eyes and the stories they could tell. Her wrinkled face showed she’d experienced so much, yet so little.
Sam struggled to write more about the woman, not quite being able to understand what her characters plans were and just how she’d get to the ocean. Did she write something marvellous in a fascinating way for her to get there or make it a gruelling task?
One of her favourite but most daring bus characters was the young woman who would always sit in front of her. She had piercing blue eyes and plump red lips that men didn’t survive to tell another tale.
She wore a hood, red in fact and it reminded Sam of Red Riding Hood, but a darker side. This woman, she had scorn and pain in her somehow. She was Debilitate with this pain, longing to relinquish it to someone else as Sam imagined.
In the real world, the bus world, she would never move or budge for anyone. The elderly women would sometimes go to sit in her seat but an evil glare where her eyes possibly changed from blue to red didn’t let that happen.
The Challenge for Sam was bringing the characters together. She couldn’t quite click them into place or figure out how they worked. She imagined the silent man, venturing to seek the open world but journeying with the elder woman, helping and assisting her journey to the ocean.
The evil countess as Sam liked to call her was it to stop them, put an end and ruin both their lives. To stop the elder woman from seeing her one true urge and ending the silent mans adventure of help and good gesture.
She would title the book, The Three Journeyed Victims.