Commute Into Eternity

The day started like any other, Jackson running to catch the bus, his hangover banging at his brain like a cast iron pan in the hands of an angry wife. He tried to catch a few more minutes of sleep during the ride to work but only succeeded with slight dips into the world of dreamscapes, never enough to escape the reality of life, a life he hated, a life he ran from straight into a bottle often as soon as his lunch break.

Jackson briefly noted the transition from the searing light of the morning sun into the nether world of the half-light, half-dark claustrophobic atmosphere of the Lincoln tunnel. Twenty minutes to go until the workday would hit him like a brick wall.

A sudden jolt woke him with a start.

Just my luck, he thinks, I finally fall asleep and a God Damn pothole spoils the moment.

It was a few more minutes before he noticed that something was not quite right. Weren’t there other passengers on the bus earlier? He knew that bus never stopped in the tunnel. Oh well, they must have gotten off earlier.

Up ahead, he could see what should have been the bright light of day at the tunnel’s end, but something was a little off. The light was there but a yellowish tint gave it the feeling of dusk filtered through a low mist. That was when he noticed the driver, or lack there-of.

I must still be dreaming, he thought just as the bus exited the tunnel.

The bus rolled slowly through the abandoned streets of the ruined city. Blocks passed by like vintage film footage, yellowed with age. There was no sound.

Jackson had the feeling that he was going to miss his old life. The bus rolled on.

Word count 300


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