Bus Driver

This is a piece from a book that I am writing, it is untitled, so for now I just call it Bus Driver (relevant to other parts of the story). So there may be a few things that you don’t understand, but I hope you like it!


Des held her crying child’s hand, and pressed her trembling scared body next to hers. She prayed for Emma’s safety, but she couldn’t be sure fate would allow it. Emma was beginning to understand the horror and danger around them that Des tried so hard to hide from her.

“Shhh,” Des said as she rocked Emma back an forth in her arms, “Shhh, its alright.”

But it wasn’t alright, it would never be alright, not as long as they were trapped in this house. Des was sixteen, at least she knew what life was actually supposed to feel like. Emma was only four and her perception was very good, but that doesn’t count when the distorted picture of what is functional sets in.

She had to get out fast, preferably both of them, but if just one of them, at least just Emma, then Des could finally breath. She fought her tears, fought them so hard. She didn’t want to break down in front of her daughter, she wanted to be a symbol of strength, someone Emma could think of when she was scared so that she could think more clearly.

It was easy to just pretend that when they slept they would awake in their own beds, away from this pain. But dreams are only fun until you wake up and the cold of reality sweeps its breath over you. Its those times that you want to die most, and often, you do, inside.

Emma looked up from Des’s shoulder. “Dessy, when can we go home?”

“Oh Emma, I promise, you’ll go home as soon as I figure out a way.”

In those next minutes of the night Emma fell asleep, sad, but with hope. Des got up to go to the music room, she knew she couldn’t sleep in Emma’s room, because of what happened last time, Lester just wouldn’t allow it, so she had to leave before she made things worse.

The corridors were dark and cold. They were much more strange to her tonight than they were any other night and Des couldn’t quite understand why. She opened the door to the music room and there it was, her grand piano. The piano looked almost as if it were just sitting there waiting for her. She gladly took in the feeling of the room, and sat down at the piano.

As usual she only lightly tapped the keys at first, shy of the power it had over her, but by the time the grand father clock in the corner had chimed 3 AM, Des was pounding her heart and soul out on that keyboard. It was the only thing that made her feel, the only thing that let her feel the way she really did without needing to hide it.

Sure she felt something when she saw Emma, but it was a different kind of something. It wasn’t that something from deep inside her that’s dieing and needs to live or that something that burns all day and all night never to be put out. But she can feel those things when she plays, and she can let them breath.

The atmosphere had changed in the room as she played. The bottle of feelings inside her had been broken and out it burst into the solitude of the room. Her tears streaked her face, racing down with force. Even the keys had become wet from her emotion.

She played and she played, wished she could stay there all night. But she knew what would happen if she stayed, knew the pain she would feel as a punishment for being in this place.

He didn’t like that she felt, didn’t like that she still fought him. It was unusual for a girl to stay strong for so long because they often broke so quickly. Des was different, and he knew it. Perhaps that’s why he liked to keep her around as long as he did. Still, he didn’t like that she found strength in that little girl or that the piano, the slightest sound of music gave her hope. He didn’t like it, didn’t like it one bit.