a Dance Through Death.

[Empathy]

The loud ring of the bell echoed through the barren high school hallway. Michael stood at his locker, having asked to go to the restroom five minutes before the final bell rang, to get a head-start above the rest of his peers. As Michael exited through the main doors, the loud bustling and shouting of his fellow schoolmates stampeding through the classroom doors to go home for the weekend. The bus was parked in plain view. Michael was a Senior at Mason Albright High School, but still rode the bus to catch a few minutes of sleep before and after school. The teenage boy walked at an accelerated pace towards the bright yellow icon of adolescence. As soon as he reached the half-way point, the main doors flung open and the audible shouts and jogging of other teenagers blasted across the empty courtyard.

Michael felt the need to get to the bus before the other teens who resided in his suburban neighborhood because there were only two seats that existed for comfort. Michael made it to the bus first, just as he knew he would, and waited for the bus driver to open the door. He waited thirty seconds before knocking. The bus driver let out an inaudible sigh and pulled the lever, which pried open the doors that Michael waited patiently beyond. The boy jumped the three-step incline and walked past the driver without even such a glance. The bus driver was a middle-aged man who showed up every morning and afternoon with a visible five-o'clock shadow. His eyes were cold and colorless. The cap he wore over his head casted a sinister shadow over the top-half of his visage. Michael couldn't remember Mr. Johns ever saying more than two words at a time: "Sit down."

Michael took the first comfortable seat; Seat 12. The seat was established directly in the middle of the bus. It was the emergency exit seat. Michael thought they must've wanted the kid sitting here to be able to open the emergency exit in comfort and with no obstacles, such as gaping holes and tangling seatbelts. Michael placed his backpack beside him, making a bold declaration that no one may sit with him today, and laid against the back of the seat, closing his eyes. Michael ignored the students who came onto the bus laughing and pushing each other and making unfunny jokes. One boy leaned over and flicked Michael's ear, a high school way of protesting the best seat being taken. About two minutes later, Mr. Johns slammed the doors shut again and shifted into drive. His timing was always flawless. The streetlight turned green just as the bus wheels began rotating. The bus took a sharp turn to the left onto the highway, and the passengers began settling down with Sci-Fi novels, MP3 players, cell phones, and sleep, in Michael's case.

Michael dreamt he was back home, in Oregon, where he lived a year ago. Michael's family had dragged him to Florida against his will. Mason Albright High School, more specifically the locker room, was his absolute last place he desired to be. In his ephemeral dreaming state of mind, Michael was walking home from the bus stop. His sister was waiting on the front porch. She greeted him with a hug and began telling him about her first day at work... Michael's sister, in reality, had died in Oregon. This was the main reason the family fled their homestate. Everything that was pitch black through Michael's eyes suddenly exploded in color and shock.

Michael had woken up in the same spot he fell asleep in: lying flat across the bus seat. Across aisle, the seat was empty. Michael peeked his head over the top of the seat; the entire bus was empty, save the Mr. Johns. His heartbeat increased sevenfold. "Shit," Michael muttered under his breath. Michael, not particularly wishing to be seen by Mr. Johns, who would curse and glare at Michael through the mirror for wasting his time, slide back, out of view. Michael glanced out the window; they were driving down the interstate at an alarming speed, taking an exit Michael had never seen before. Where are we going?, he thought to himself in fright. Michael didn't know whether or not he should make himself visible to the menacing bus driver. Michael declared himself in a state of emergency.

While Michael was trying to decide what course of action he should partake in, the bus began slowing down. At first, he thought it was because Mr. Johns had heard his heart beating out of his chest. But peeking over the seat, Mr. Johns appeared oblivious. Michael hastily looked out of the window. They had stopped at a gas station, and Mr. Johns exited the bus. "Shit," Michael repeated. His mind scrambled in decision; should he flee the bus and call his parents from a pay phone? He felt his pockets and he had no change. Michael cursed himself for being one of the only Floridian teenagers not to own a cellular phone. Michael stood up and began walking towards the front of the bus. He reached Seat 7, before Mr. Johns emerged from the gas station with a coffee in his hand. Michael cursed again and sprawled himself across the closest seat, breathing heavily. Mr. Johns pulled the doors shut again and started the bus. Michael shouted violently in his mind, still not knowing what to do. He pounded his fists in the air, angry at his own lack of courage.

The bus pulled off onto the highway again, and Michael decided to wait until the next stop to flee the bus and ask someone for help. With a sort of plan in his mind, Michael tried to calm himself down, but he couldn't help but notice the coffee Mr. Johns was guzzling down. Michael wondered if their next stop would even come before nightfall. The thought haunted Michael for the next hour, then another hour passed, and another, while Michael continued to curse himself. The sun began setting, Michael watched from out the window. The sun slowly dove beneath the treetops. The sky began darkening instantaneously. Michael began panicking once again. For the next half hour, the bus took obscure and unfamiliar turns down roads untraveled by Michael. Literally scared for his personal well-being, Michael decided he'd make his presence known. He looked over the top of the seat yet again, but upon seeing the vicious and unfriendly face staring at the road ahead in the mirror, Michael slid his head back down, slowly and in shame.

Roughly fifteen minutes later, the bus came to an instant and halting stop. Mr. Johns dropped the drained coffee cup in the small trashcan beside his seat, and stood up, stretching. He pulled the door open and exited the bus in an apparently angry fashion. Michael stood up, knowing this was his only chance to escape unnoticed. He reached for the door, but paused. Before his eyes, his bus driver was approaching a man from behind. The man seemed unaware of the bus driver's presence. Michael squinted his eyes, trying to see what was going on in the darkness. Suddenly and violently, Mr. Johns pulled a switchblade out of his back pocket and plunged it into the spine of the stranger. Michael heard a ear-piercing and violent scream rip itself out of the man's mouth. The man turned to face his attacker, with the switchblade still implanted into his body. Mr. Johns grabbed the man by his collar and swung him onto the ground. Dust exploded into the air around them. "Holy shit," Michael said, wide-eyed. Mr. Johns punched the man's face many, spastic times. The man's head bounced off the ground with each menacing blow. After about ten vicious and undefended punches to his face, Mr. Johns stood back up and brushed himself off casually.

Michael, now in a mortal state of terror, accidentally leaned against the lever, which loudly swung the door open. "Fuck!" Michael shouted as he dove face-first onto the bus floor. Mr. Johns looked up instantly. The bus driver began walking at a quick pace towards the open bus doors. Michael scrambled and crawled back to his seat as fast as he could, and grabbed the emergency escape handle, and pulled with all his strength. The window popped out and hit the ground below. Just as Mr. Johns leaped back onto the bus, Michael was tossing himself out of the window, reaching for the ground outside. Mr. Johns sprinted towards Seat 12, but Michael's feet had just escaped his reaching hands. The bus driver cursed and sprinted towards the bus doors. Michael scrambled back to his feet and broke out in a frantic and terrifying sprint towards the woods in front of him. He glanced behind him and saw Mr. Johns jogging after him, shouting. Michael couldn't comprehend what he was saying; Michael could only hear his own feet slamming against the ground, time after time. He broke the edge of the wood, swiping vines and branches out of his face, but never slowing down. There was a ditch ahead, barely visible in the darkness, that Michael reached. His mind tried to come to a conclusion as to what to do, but before it made its final decision, Michael dove into the ditch and tumbled across the floor. A sharp stick was sticking out of the ditch-wall and Michael yanked it out of its socket. Leaves and twigs snapped under Mr. Johns feet as Michael heard him approaching.

The bus driver came to a halt at the edge of the ditch and looked all around him. Michael's heart was beating crazily, barely staying within his chest. Mr. Johns yelled, "Little shit, where are you?" Michael covered his mouth to suppress his heavy heaving. Suddenly, an incredibly weight slammed down on Michael's head. Mr. Johns had plunged himself onto Michael and they both crumpled under the weight. Michael's head throbbed, but he grabbed the stick and lunged towards Mr. Johns. He received a stiff punch to the face, which knocked him to his knees. "You don't know what you saw, kid," Mr. Johns said, in between gasps for air.

"Yes I do. You killed a man," Michael shouted back. With the stick pulsating in his clenched fist, Michael leapt to his feet and drove the point of the branch into the jugular of his bus driver. A loud gargling sound echoed through the forest as Michael was sprayed with throat-blood. Mr. Johns collapsed to the ground and tried to breath. His body wouldn't allow him to. Within seconds, the bus driver perished. Michael stood over his body. "I just killed someone," Michael said. The thought hit him like a ton of bricks. Once again, his mind began working, trying to find somewhere to stop at. Michael jumped down beside the corpse and began digging through the dirt with his bare hands. The dirt found a home beneath his fingernails as Michael flung the soil in all directions, digging at an unbelievable pace. After about two minutes, Michael decided the hole was deep enough. He dragged the dead man into the hole and covered him up in a half-assed job. Michael stood up and jumped out of the ditch and sat down on a tree stump. What the hell do I do now?, he thought. Before he could even begin to consider his options, blue and red lights began flashing outside the wood, accompanied with loud and blaring sirens. Michael stood up and dove back into the ditch when he noticed the dogs and officers breaking into the trees.

Michael laid flat on his stomach with dirt in his eyes and mouth, trying to merge his body into the ground to be unseen. However, as soon the police officers reached the ditch, the German Shepherds began barking violently. The officers were tugged down into the ditch by their canine partners. As soon as they saw Michael laying in the dirt and the feet and forehead of the corpse sticking out of the burial mound, the officer shouted, "Don't you move!" Michael began crying. The officer grabbed Michael by his collar and dragged him to his knees. "You are under arrest," the cop said plainly. Michael dug his fingers into the dirt and pulled himself out of the officer's grasp. He was sobbing now. Dirt was mixing with his tears on his face and he had to spit out the soil that was gagging him. "What're we going to do with this kid, Willy?" the first officer asked. "This is going to get ugly. Him being underage and all." Michael sobbed loudly.

"What the hell... let's just bury this kid along with this case," Willy said grimly.

"You don't mean...?" his partner said slowly.

"Yeah. Knock him out. Bury his body. He'll be dead before he wakes up."

"What the fuck? No! You can't-" Michael shouted, before receiving a blunt blow to the back of his neck. Everything went blurry and his body slowly paralyzed, knocking him unconscious. Michael was not awake for the ceremony. The police officers dug out Mr. Johns and buried Michael beneath him, alive. The officers walked in silence back to their patrol vehicles and drove off with their lights and sirens off.

Michael did in fact wake up, but with absolutely no energy and absolutely no oxygen. He inhaled with all his might, only to be met with a mouthful of dirt, worm parts, and shit. Michael gagged on the disgusting mixture and choked to death, underneath his former bus driver. His mind was completely shut off. No thoughts went through his head as he slowly and painfully and disgustingly died. Michael would decompose, unknown, out here in the middle of absolutely nowhere with Mr. John's corpse. Sure, someone might stumble across the man his bus driver murdered, but what would make them come a hundred yards out into the wood? Nothing. No one would ever find these mangled and filthy corpses, dancing their way through death and whats comes thereafter.

[Punxx]

Nice job. Pretty damn well written, a bit morbid but still pretty well written. Some extremely minor flaws here and there but otherwise nice. You should definitely write more. I heard you were going to be writing a novel, should be a pretty good read. Good on ya Empathy.

[JC#1]

Fuck, this scarred the shit out of me dude. You always could of given it a happy ending you know.

[chimney_leaf]

What in god's name made you come up with this? Very interesting read though.

This line made me laugh though;

Michael stood up and dove back into the ditch when I noticed the dogs and officers breaking into the trees.

You quite often see this on FF.net for various reasons, such as fangirl authors doing self-insertions (christ, that sounds dirty)

[Dark Skywalker]

Wow nicely done, good job

[Empathy]

Thanks. Like I said, I wrote this in about forty-five minutes. I'm probably going to start another one on MFG soon that isn't a one-shot.

Oh, and I got the idea when a while ago I fell asleep on the bus, I woke up and we were leaving my neighborhood and I freaked out for a minute. And then I just added the witnessing a murder, committing a murder, and being buried alive parts to it.

[The Electron Zone]

Two words Empathy......Absolutely Awazing


Nice Ending

[Punxx]

Yeah the I part kind of messed with me too but I knew it was a simple error. Anyways, looking forward to more from you man.