Tuesdays

Tuesdays were always the worst.

It began with getting up at o'too early and ended with a flat tire. In between there had been that raised bridge that caused me to be late for work, which resulted in a big fight with my boss that reached to a climax of me being fired.

Again.

Fired on a Tuesday. Again. And that was one of my happier Tuesdays. So when I woke up this particular Tuesday, feeling that all too familiar tingling in the back of my gut, I wished with all my might I could be the type of person that could close her eyes, turn over and get back to sleep until the next sunrise.

But, unfortunately, that not being the kind of action a person like me does, I didn’t. Instead I got up and took a long shower, soaking in the heat and steam rising from the warm water pouring down my body. In hindsight I wished I had listened to that little voice in the back of my mind urging me to turn over and cuddle in deeper under my blankets. But I guess that's why it is called wisdom after the deed and you always regret the things you didn't do more than the things you did do.

Probably meaning that, had I indeed turned over and gotten back to sleep, I would be regretting that action now today as well. Either way, I figure I was meant to be screwed over. Tuesdays are screwed over, but god, how I long to do that Tuesday over.


The windows were covered in frost, as if I needed another reminder it was freezing outside. My clothes reflected my mood, which was dark and sombre, gloomy even. So I wore bright yellow and my lightest shade of jeans. Just to be contrary.
I knew I had to eat something but the effort seemed too daunting a task at the time so I refrained. I'd come to wish for that extra time I could have spent at home later, but enough of that now.

Glancing at the clock I saw I could make it to the bus station in time for the '51 bus if I rushed, so I threw some food in my bag and shot my jacket on. Heels were too cold so I pulled on my UGGs, ugly but comfy and warm. With only a few seconds to spare I made it to the bus station in time to wait on the appropriate place for line four to see me and pick me up.

I got in, paid my ticket and made my way over to a free seat halfway in the bus, pulling my Music Player out of my pocket as I went. The noise of the bus was deafening so I had to turn up the volume and change genre music, going from Alicia Keys and Leona Lewis to Ludacris and Lupe Fiasco. Enjoying the music I leaned my head against the window and closed my eyes, all set to enjoy the warm trip to the city.

Seeing as how I was sitting in a bus I didn't see anything weird in it stopping, not even when it stayed still for longer than I thought necessary. After all, it was a bus. A public means of transportation for one and all, be you invalid, elderly, pushing a buggy or with a big group of people. Who was to say which one it was this time?

When I finally did open my eyes I flinched, only one thought shooting through my suddenly blanked out mind. It was a thought I was going to be experiencing an awful lot of times in the near future. A thought I should have executed instead of just thought: I should have stayed in bed.


There was nothing really noticeable about the guy, not really. He had a typical face, one out of a dozen. Bland, neither ugly nor handsome, just something in between like millions of others on this earth. His hair was some muddy variation on the golden blond and his eyes were dark brown watered with ale or something. A disgusting color that managed to be nice but didn’t pull off stunning as it so easily could have.

His clothes were cheap but a well looked after cheap. Nothing stood out on the man; he wasn't the type to be discernable in a crowd, not somebody that stood out.

Safe for the gun in his hand of course. That sure as hell managed to catch my attention. Along with the focus of every eye in the bus aimed at him and the sound of muttered curses I faintly heard in the silences between lyrics.

Strangely enough no one tried to duck for cover or otherwise try to hide himself from sight. It was a measure of our total state of shock and disbelief I think. How could some crazy person just one day go up and point a gun at a bus driver? At seven fucking a.m. no less. He had to be either bloody mental or fucking joking!

God how I was shooting for the last, (no pun intended).

Should have stayed in bed longer. Or maybe taken breakfast, that would have been nice and a time stretcher. Stupid. Stupid. Too stupid to live.

Now why did I have to go and think that? Why have a thought like that when someone is waving a gun around, looking for a target?

I inconspicuously tried to sink down deeper in my chair, trying to figure out if he was looking for fear or anger and what kind of reaction either would give me. I settled for haughty aloofness versus not looking at him at all in hopes of escaping his attention. Should have known that wouldn't happen, not on a bloody Tuesday, not with a bright canary-yellow t-shirt on.


It was a day of mistakes, starting with getting up and ending with pulling my jacket off in the heat of the bus to get comfortable for a fifteen minute drive. In between were the biggest mistakes; my clothes of the day, not eating breakfast when I knew it was unhealthy to do so (even more so than I thought apparently), choosing the bus over my bike. But I guess the biggest mistake of all was my impression.

It's what got me shot after all.

The shot rang out in the silence, resounding just between the change from "Rockstar" from Ludacris to Lupe's "Superstar" and my pounding heartbeats. I felt it entering my chest in shocked detachment. I knew it was coming, had seen it heading towards me in the kind of slow motion you see on the TV. The bullet whipping toward me like one of the computer animations in the Matrix. Twirling around its own core, leaving spiraled disruptions in the air behind in its wake.

The guy looked grim but wore an elated grin as well, his eyes flashing in some emotion I couldn’t name and probably didn’t want to ever feel.

Gasps and shocked screams hang in the air as soon as the trigger had been pulled and the bullet had been loosed. My senses were on overload yet seemed to be too little and too slow at the same time. It didn't seem possible I was getting shot because of one lousy mistake I hadn't even been aware of making. Where was the fairness in that? Forgetting for a minute I had long known the world isn’t fair I was extremely indignant about the complete unfairness of this day.

That and a dozen other thoughts shot through my mind as the bullet neared me and finally (finally?!!) entered my body. It went through different layers of skin (three right?), tissue, sinew and muscle (what order was it again?) and god knows what else and in what order and in what particular place on my chest.

I just felt the shocking pain for an instant before I blocked it away and thousands of thoughts made itself known to me, all wanting to be thought at that exact time. The only positive thing I could see in them was that none of them was my life flashing by before me, overlaid on the rapidly swelling darkness behind my eyelids.

If it was true what everyone had always stated and claimed to be truth for years that would mean I wasn't dying yet. And that was good. It was something of light amidst the darkness. Even if it was only a pinprick of light in an ocean of darkness, a rat-infested pox-rotten sea of darkness.

That's all I had time to think off, because following that typical me type of comment the darkness became too heavy to bear, my atlas arms shuddering under the weight of it. I felt a stab of pain.

Or a shot, more literally, as it was a bullet that had done the wounding rather than a knife of some sort.

I moaned and a keening wail left my lips involuntarily, the way for it cleared heartbeats before by the soft and small moan. Clamping down all sound and my pain feelers I gave in to the darkness and fainted.

I woke to screaming.

It was only after someone kept shushing at me that I realized it was me doing the shouting and immediately shut my yap. Gods how embarrassing to be caught in the open like that.

Still, maybe it is not so bad when you are on the floor with a gunshot wound in your chest. But then again, of all times to not show weaknesses or vulnerabilities… this would be a great start. Seemed like I had missed the starting signal though.

I took a deep breath, ignoring the flinch of pain that brought me and tried not to grimace. Time to open your eyes and take an inventory of your surroundings and situation, I told myself.

Sternly.

Really, grow up and open your damn eyes already.

Humph, this is bull. Stop being such a wuss and open. You. Blasted. Peepers!

With an effort that seemed to sap all the strength out of me I finally opened my eyes and tried to look through my lashes. Women and men alike did that in the books I read, I didn't see how they did it however. Every time I kept my lashes over my eyes I didn't see jack and when I tried to peer through them my entire eyelid opened.

Well damn. With a mental shake of my head in disgust at myself I just opened my eyes entirely. I had already been shot and seemed to be doing sort of a-okay, opening my eyes now surely wouldn't change that much?

'Be still, please. Don't move, your wound just stopped bleeding and I don't want it to start up again. You've lost too much blood as it is.' Someone whispered in my ear with a desperate urge riding the tone. Almost as if trying to press on me how important it was to do as she said.

Then the words sunk in and I gave myself another mental shake, duh. Of course she was trying to convey to me the urge of her words, they were damned important! I snorted softly and tried telling her with my eyes I understood and would obey.

Not that we would be calling it obeying of course, more like listening to sound advice, heeding someone's warning. But not obeying, never that. Oblivious to my internal ranting the female nodded, or at least I thought she did.

Her form was impossible to make out, let alone tell characteristics, colorings or age. Gender I had guessed by the sound of her voice, that wasn't a hard leap to make after all. The glowing halo of light around her form was unwavering and immensely bright however, making it improbable to guess at anything else at this time.

It didn’t matter to me though, in fact I couldn’t even begin to care less. All my attention was at trying to sort through the jambling in my head. I had been shot by an average guy, the one everyone always said "Never saw it coming from him but sort of expected it almost" about.

Which was like saying you weren't going to come tonight so see you there.

Well screw that. Just focus now on looking beyond the big bright golden halo covering the girl/woman? sitting next to you. Let's see, we're moving. That means we are either still in the bus or I've been transported into an ambulance.

I listened for a second, my ears feeling raised like a dog's when all its attention was at hearing out a sound. There was nothing but the sound of riding however, that and some hushed noises. Which meant what, exactly? The alarm wasn't on because my wound wasn't fatal? The ambulance was soundproofed against the sound of its own sirens? My wound was fatal enough to just numb me out and make my death as comfortable as possible?

Ok, don’t go there. Panic attack coming up! Breathe in deeply (ouch), breathe out strongly (augh dammit). Phhhh, whoosh whoosh. The wheezing sound of my frantic breathes were met with more shushed and angry whispers.

Guess that answered that question. No ambulance. There were too many voices present for that. I'd read somewhere the back of an ambulance only held room for one friend of the wounded and then add the two paramedics to it. Or had it been only the one while the second paramedic was driving?

Not important right now.

Think.

Well, at least try to. I admonished to myself as I tried again to make sense of my chaotically whirling mind. Spinning around and around in a mad jumble, each thought trying to gain supremacy over the other. Every thought seeming to be the most important one at the same time, making it impossible to finish even one stray thought or follow it to its end or meaning.

There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. Omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat. And we must take the current when it serves, or lose our ventures. That had a lovely ring to it… Shakespeare right...? Wonder why I think about that now… no! do not do this to me… not now Cynara, not now!

Assess the damage done to you, assess your strength, come on love, focus!

Pffff. I breathed out steadily through pursed lips as softly as I could. A long drawn out sigh too soft to be heard by anyone but me and maybe the stranger sitting next to me. Which brought me to my next question.

If we are still in a bus, why am I lying down so softly and how can someone be sitting beside me? But more importantly, is the shooter still present? Is he still pointing his gun at someone? Had he more than the one bullet? Has he made demands yet? Come on love, think Sin, think. You know you can do it.

Breathing in and out as soft as possible I allowed my eyelids to flutter shut again. It wasn't as if I could see anything interesting after all. All I saw was that bright halo of color covering everything in sight. Some dark splotches were faintly discernable but not frequently or clearly enough to guess at their meaning or true outlook.

Well fuck a duck and call me stupid, I thought in annoyance. So many questions that needed answering and I had no means of getting that done without risking more attendance of mister psycho pants, if he was indeed still in attendance.

Alrighty then, let’s say for the moment that he is. Then how do you suggest we proceed from there hm?

Gee, I dunno… do you have any suggestions?

… Sometimes I forgot why I hated talking to myself. Two cynical and sarcastic smartasses hitting heads wasn't a pretty sight. Especially not when done in the confines of one teeny tiny little head.

Stop stalling and begin planning. You need to get out of here alive and preferably in one piece so start making that happen. The gods only help those who help themselves after all.

With that thought came the required tranquillity of mind I needed to clear my head and get some silence from my own snarky comments. No wonder I had so few true friends, I wouldn’t want to listen to me whine and nag all the time either!

I snorted again. This time forgetting to keep it contained it moved my entire chest up and down in a sharp jab like motion, opening the entry wound again, hopefully the exit wound of the bullet as well. Because as bad as two bleeding points in my chest were, I didn't want a bullet stuck in me either.

The sluggish bleeding warmed my chest and with every new piece of skin the warmth covered I felt more and more pain, not in the least naming the dizziness. I tried shaking my head to clear it but that proved unwise, (well duh), as it moved my chest again and I fainted once more from the pain. 

This time I knew to keep my mouth closed. Sleeping and awake. My awakening went better this time, I slowly rose from my unconsciousness. Inch by inch feeling more feelings and thoughts returning, inch by inch more aware.

I tried again to look through my lashes but apart from fluttering wildly my eyelids once again refused to cooperate. Giving up on that tactic I focused on my body, I was still lying on something soft.

…

Yes, we were still moving too, softly rocking back and forth. There was a hushed sort of silence that told me there was some sort of threat hanging in the air. Nothing but danger could bring this kind of heavy leaden energy tinting the very air I breathed. Oppressing it was, making me almost afraid to breathe because the movement could draw attention.

Besides that I was also afraid to stir my now not so very painful chest. It was only then I realized most of the pressure I felt on my chest was due more to the bandage covering it than whatever rode the currents of air.

I laughed at myself mentally and opened my eyes. My vision was cleared out, making me able to see more than smudges of color like some sort of abstract painting.

What I saw confirmed my findings; we were still in the very same bus I had stepped into earlier this morning. Just assuming that was of course, no telling how long I had been out. But to make me feel less ashamed I just told myself only hours had passed, maybe even less.

The sun was present, lighting the bus now instead of the lights that had been on when I had gotten in. It gave the bus a warm and cozy outlook, something that was immediately negated when I got a good look at the rest of the interior.

I lay down on the backseat, one hand hanging down limply only now attracting my attention. I kept it there, not willing to risk jarring my wound or getting shot again. Every other chair was occupied, making it impossible for the other seven passengers to interact with each other.

I was glad to notice there were no elderly people present; maybe they had been dropped off earlier? The ages differed from my nineteen years of age to what looked like someone in her mid thirties. Everybody was leaning with her or his back against the window, sitting half twisted on their chairs.

The average looking psycho stood next to the bus driver, keeping his gun aimed comfortably at him while keeping half an eye on us. He had probably forced them to sit like that, making it possible for him to see all their faces and making it harder for them to duck or move at all.

Smart bugger. This was clearly well planned, I just wondered why. What was he hoping to gain with this? Why had he fucking shot me? That was beyond rude and went straight into bastardry.

I sighed and rolled my head, trying to get the kink out of my neck. Somebody moved in the furthest corner of my peripheral vision, I twisted around till I could see that person.

It was a woman of my age, give or take a year or two older but still. She had golden blond hair and cornflower blue eyes that seemed to pop out of her face. A striking combination, especially since I normally considered blonds to be ugly. Her mouth was in a grim and uncompromising line, marring the beauty of her otherwise gorgeous face.

Her eyes flicked over to me, ordering me to lay silent. I swallowed my snort, as if I was dumb enough to start screaming fire. Well, okay, so I had done so once, but that was when I was unconscious and therefore couldn’t be held accountable for it.

I smiled slightly at her, giving her the smallest nod possible while still giving an obvious nod in agreement. Her eyes lost that urgent glitter and she seemed to relax some. I wondered if she had put that pressure bandage around my chest and how she had convinced the shooter to let her do so.

Usually shooting someone meant you wanted them dead, so why allow them to be tended? On the other hand, you did have a stronger negotiation position if none of the hostages were dead or in hazard of becoming so.

Which brought me back to my earlier question, what the hell did the shooter want?

He didn’t rant or say anything, just silence and the speaking louder than words gun he still held pointed at the bus driver. He drifted in and out of my vision through the slit between the seats in front of me. I was glad for those momentarily relieves of seeing him, just knowing what he had looked like when pulling the trigger was enough to get my sweat glands working overtime.

'Turn right here.' He said just then. I couldn't remember if he had spoken earlier or not. He certainly didn’t have a voice worthy of remembering, nasal and whiny sounding it grated over my spine. If he never spoke again it would be too soon by me.

I smiled over that thought as I clenched my muscles to keep lying on the seats when the bus tilted over to the side in its turning. As always I felt sure the bus was going to flip over but it righted itself again soon enough. I shook my head and tried to dislodge the feeling of foreboding.

I already knew I was in danger, I mean; I had a fucking gunshot wound in my chest for crying out loud. It didn't get any more dangerous than that, especially not when you considered I was in a bus that was being held hostage by a lunatic with a gun while having said gunshot wound unattended.

Top that off with a cherry; I was sure we were driving faster than busses were supposed to. I sighed and gently began sitting up, lying down made me feel too exposed and endangered. It didn’t leave an easy position for maneuvering and it made too big a target out of me.

After some time I finally sat up, without having to be told I sat down the exact same way the others did, my back leaning against the cold window and my face facing the window on the opposite site I was sitting on.

My legs were stretched out on the seat and I pulled them up now, protecting my chest with my raised knees and making a smaller target. I wasn’t completely stupid after all.

'…another right turn here…' the guy kept giving instructions to the bus driver but I zoned out, only then noticing my music player was still on and moving on to one of my favorite songs.

It was a song I had heard once when reading a book and whenever I now heard it I was swept back to that moment in time. When my emotions were unlocked safely behind the pages of a book, where no one could take advantage of them. I glanced at the guy and deemed it safe enough to move some more.

With a carefully calculated movement I moved my left arm, the one against the back of the seat and therefore more hidden away, to the ear hanging from my pocket. I grabbed the small piece of technique and moved it up and to my face. Plugging it into my left ear I kept looking at the guy from the corner of my eyes.

Just as I began moving my hand back down his gaze shot at my face, his eyes locking mine into a look I couldn't break free from. For such an average guy he had a hell of a force behind his eyes.

He glared at me and his hand moved in a slow arc away from the bus driver to me, the gun once more aimed at me.

'Didn’t I make it perfectly clear no one was to move?' he said in a deceptively supposed to be nice sounding voice. I remained silent, unsure once more what would anger him more. I was sure my face and entire posture radiated submissiveness and how much I might hate that, I was sure I would hate getting shot again even more.

Everything seemed suspended in time, everything but ''Afterglow" from INXS that was. And wasn't it ironic that the same song I had first heard described in a scene concerning a funeral, was the one playing when I might very well be heading towards my very own? 

They say life is a struggle, a combination of successes and losses. They say life is beautiful and only for the strong ones. They say life is living.

How do you keep living if someone seems determined to stop the spark of life that keeps you going? How do you keep fighting when everyone seems to fight against you? When everything seems to make you give up. When it doesn’t seem as if you have enough time left to make a stand.

How do you make a difference, leave your mark on this world without causing damage. How do you keep breathing and breathing, how do you keep your heart pumping when all you want to do is curl up and let the world go by.

You stand up and do. No thinking, no mind. Just rise and get up, take a step forward and breathe in. Rise above yourself and make a stand. Because for better or for worse, this is the life you live, the cards you've been dealt. So you can either blame it on chance, bad luck or fate. Fact is, it is, and you have to make the best of it.

But how do you make the best of a gun pointing at your chest? How do make the best of being wounded and no medical care in sight? How do you make the best of a bad hand?

The world seemed frozen in time, beyond frozen, suspended in time. Everything was hanging on this moment, what was going to happen now would shape the rest of my life. It would shape the rest of the life of so many people. How many lives do you touch and make a difference in without even knowing you are doing it? How many lives had I changed? How many for the better, how many had I ruined or made to rise above themselves?

Where do you get the strength to go on when everything seems to plot against you? How do you snap out of your self pity, your accusations to the gods and your pleas for a better hand without striving to make it so yourself?

You can find strength in faith. You can find it in love, in friendship, in the smallest things like a place you call home. You can find it in knowing someone else lacks it so you have to be the stronger party. I found it in music. In knowing someone had to try something. In already being wounded and not knowing if I would survive either way. I found it in the lives I could save by making a stand now. Here. This day and this hour.

I found it in myself, in knowing I could make a difference and could leave something behind. I found it in the desperate eyes looking straight ahead, in faces damp with sweat, in the pitiful soft moans that rose from people without them being aware of it.

I found it in the situation.

I found it.

So I got up and walked towards the gun pointed at my chest. I got up and looked straight into the eyes of the guy, daring him to shoot me and aim true. Daring him to pull the trigger like he had done once before.

But then I had been sitting, and the bus had been standing still. Now the bus was driving above speed limits, and I was walking and providing an unsteady target. Now he had to look me in the eye and plan to shoot me, now he had to kill me. Because if he shot me again, I would keep walking towards him, I would keep moving.

This time I would not be taken unawares. This time it would mean something.

So I ignored the pleading hands thrown my way, urging me to sit back and see the unfolding of the events taking place. I ignored the sweat drops popping out on my temples, I ignored the trembling of my knees and the unsteady and slow progress I made.

I was scared out of my pants but I wouldn’t let it stop me. I knew what I was doing. I knew what I was fighting for, for once. All my life I had been small and insignificant, easily discarded and barely worth noticing. This time I would be someone, I would be noticed. I would be a hero.

And that sounded pathetic and like I was some sort of masochist, but I wasn't, not really. I just knew I wanted the others to be safe. I wanted the woman who had clearly just given birth to get back to her baby. I wanted the boy to have a nice date and to make his girlfriend happy. I wanted the woman to have a nice birthday party and I wanted her to give her present to her friend.

I just wanted this Tuesday to be over. One way or another. So I walked on, every step of the way expecting a bullet to be pumped into me again. Every step of the way expecting it to be the last. Every step of the way one step closer to my end goal.

And then there was only one step left to take. Only one step away from the guy. The time still seemed frozen, oh, I knew we were moving. I felt it under my feet, instinctively shifting balance to keep standing. But it seemed as if every detail was lifted under a microscope, as if everything was as sharp as the edge of a knife. It seemed as if I was the only one breathing, the only one living.

I could see the zits on the face of my adversary; I could see the small blackheads on his nose and the sweat dropping from his pores. I could see the irregularities where he had popped his blackheads and zits and left scars, I could see the nervous swallowing his Adams apple performed. I could see that his eyes weren't really that vague and ugly brown after all, more a motley of green, brown and amber blending into one ugly color together.

I could see the dandruff in his hair, the grease, the dye job he had tried to perform on it. I could see he epilated his eyebrows and was a few days late in renewing. I could smell his armpits and too much use of cologne or aftershave.

I could see the sorry picture he made so much more clearer now. It was such a sad and sorry tale, this day, this Tuesday. Not just for me, but for everyone who had a loved one in this bus. For everyone that expected someone to show and was waiting even now for them to show up. Had we already made headlines? Were we already reported missing? Did they know who we were, the unfortunate souls stuck in this bus with an insecure guy desperate for attention?

Did they try to save us, try contacting us?

In the end it didn’t matter, none of it did. It came down to who had the stronger will, who wanted it more badly. I was dizzy and fainthearted, barely keeping myself upright and bleeding all over my canary-yellow shirt. He was desperate and needed something, he had a lot to lose; his name, his standing, his freedom.

Yet I had even more to lose, my life was on the line. And whether they knew it or not, realized it or not, the lives of everyone in this bus rested on my shoulders now. I had taken over responsibility from the guy with the gun, taken the burden from his shoulders in a desperate attempt to safe us all.

Who was more desperate? Who had more to lose? Who was more aware of their surroundings, more aware of advantages to be made by the driving bus and moving ground we were standing on?

It had only lasted seconds, and I saw my one shot at victory nearing in just seconds as well. He had his back to the front window, I could see over his shoulder to the road. I could see the coming turn we were about to make. I knew his gun was mere millimeters removed from my chest, from the place in my chest that held my heart.

I knew I had to act and act fast, so when the bus driver tensed his shoulders I moved. I dropped through my legs, landing on my knees in front of him, pushing my right shoulder against his knee while pushing my left arm against the lower half of his arm, pointing it towards the ceiling.

I grunted in pain, the swift movements having ripped open the small part of my wound that had caked in with dried up blood. Someone else shouted, a high squeal of surprise, some grunt of pain, soft cheers and huzzahs. I blocked it all out and focused on the falling guy in front of me.

His straight white teeth bared in a feral grin, his eyes glinting dangerously as he dropped towards me, stumbling in a futile attempt to regain his balance as the bus driver started a deliberate and wild slalom. His feet did some weird dance, in vain trying to keep upright, to keep bearing the weight of his body.

His arm was struggling with my hand, him putting force downwards as I desperately tried to keep his arm in an arc pointing upwards. It was only a matter of time before he would win, we both realized that. Me more so than him I think.

I was trembling on my knees, fighting to keep conscious, fighting to keep the blackness from taking over my vision. I was fighting for survival of my body while a more important battle was taking place for winning the moment.

I felt my arm sinking, felt my muscles losing strength and giving in to gravity. I saw his grin widening and his eyes narrowing in triumph and a promise for revenge clearly shown in them. I wondered where the others were, why no one was stepping up to help, why everyone was so meek and unwilling to change their own lives.

Maybe I wasn't so weak after all, maybe I was stronger than I had always believed myself to be. After all, I was the only one making a stand, trying to change the hand dealt to me. The only one trying to make a bad situation into something good, the only one that tried, period.

And then I did nothing, because he fought back, pushing me off my knees and making me land on my back. He was barking orders I couldn't hear from the whistling in my ears, I could only see his mouth moving, his throat working and his eyes swinging back and forth wildly. His gun swung back and forth in threat, never once staying on one single place longer than seconds.

Everyone and no one could be hit by him, everyone equally threatened and equally cowering away from him. I could see them now, still in the place I had left them in, their wide eyes frightened and round. Maybe time had been going faster than I thought, maybe I hadn't given them time enough to get up and do something, anything.

I didn’t think so though. I could see it in their eyes, as none of them was willing to hold my gaze for more than a second, as everyone got back to staring straight ahead. I lay there on my back, bleeding, looking at the ceiling and the people that showed in my peripheral vision, bleeding.

My heart wept for them, wept for their inability to act and get up for themselves.

The noise crushing down on me intensified, sweeping me off my feet save for the fact I was already off my feet. A shadow came over my face and I looked toward the guy, his gun once more pointing directly towards me. Steady this time, sure of itself and unwavering.

His eyes were sure again, full of malice and more than a hint of craziness. He said something. Glaring at me with narrowed eyes as I failed to respond to him. I saw him repeating the same words, louder this time, a vein popping on his temple and a tick appearing on his jaw as he shouted it for a third time.

I felt the bus slowing down, wondered if I was the only one to do so. No one seemed to respond to it so I didn’t either, instead focusing on his lips to see if I could make some sense of the words he shouted at me. Spittle flew from his lips, some landing on my face while some of it didn’t get further than his chin.

It made him look even crazier, even more unable to reason with.

I didn’t care anymore at that point, the buzzing in my ear was all consuming, as was the pain in my chest and the spreading pool of warmth I felt beneath me. All I could care about was for it to end.

And then it did; the bus stopped, he swept his head back so swiftly I could almost hear his vertebrae cracking, his hair swishing after him. The black gate flew open, swinging back after hitting the legs of my assailant. The big blond bus driver got up and made a swinging motion to the head of the guy still standing over me. The guy had been too slow, too intent on threatening me and making me cower in front of him. He had been too dumb in only swishing his head back instead of moving his entire body and bringing the gun with him.

He staggered from the blow against his head but shook it off him with a disgusted snarl. His gun wavered a second, his hand pulling back the safety and rising up to meet the new threat. With his attention off of me for a second I lifted my heavy leg and brought it up against his balls.

His eyes rounded as he dropped the gun and brought his hands down to cup himself. His mouth formed a shocked "oh" and I saw him swallowing in pain heavily. All the while the gun kept dropping with the end pointing towards me. I couldn't feel victory for overpowering the guy just then.

First of all, it hadn't been just me and second... didn't guns go off when dropped down with the safety off?

I don't know why I expected everything to be over after the guy had been subdued; (mental note to self; give "the guy" a use name. Let's try John, small and average, just what he deserved).

I sure as hell don't know why I expected anything at all. I mean, I should have known better, right? It was a Tuesday after all. But no-oh, I had to go and be a hero. I had to step up and rise to the bloody occasion. When would I learn?

The gun was falling down, the slow spiral in which it was engaged neither fast enough to be turned from me when it would land on the ground nor slow enough to keep pointing slightly over my head. I saw it heading towards me, the black mouth spelling my doom.

Maybe I would luck out and the gun wouldn’t go off. Maybe the sky would fall down and make the whole issue mote. For some reason I didn’t see either happening. Maybe I could use the power of positive thinking to tip the scales in my fortune…

Why are you still lying, playing dead, while the gun is inches away from landing? Move bitch! Get out of the way. Instantly the song from Ludacris made itself known in my head and repeated that two short sentences again and again, over and over.

It's funny how much thoughts you can have in so little time. The gun was an inch closer to the ground and already a hundred of thoughts had shot through my overactive mind. My blessed talents at its best, I thought sarcastically.

There had to be something I could do, geesh, ya think? Let's try moving… now please… or you can just wait for the gun to land and either pop a bullet or not. Your choice.

I put a lid on my mental voice and glared at the gun, willing it to spin faster, fall slower, put the safety back on. Anything. I wasn't too keen on the particulars.

Okay, who was I kidding? I just wanted to not die. Was that too much to ask? I mean, hello, only nineteen here. I began lifting my torso from the floor when I remembered from some pain induced trance I was lying on my back because I couldn’t move anymore. Thanks to the once more bleeding wound on two sides of my chest I was incapacitated. Lovely.

Just lovely. Finely decide to do something and you can't. Any other brilliant insights to share?

I was a really annoying person. Did I just figure that out? Not really. Did I deserve to die because of that? Not at all.

So what do I have to do to dodge the bullet? Literally speaking for once. I released my glare as it gave me a headache atop of my other numerous pains and tried to think of something else to try. There was about an inch and a half left, if my deducing skills were any good that was.

So what can you do, move wise, in the time it takes a falling object with mass so and so to hit the ground in an arc this and thus around such time? Ha, speaking of vague sentences!

I disgust myself, here I am, in what may very well be my last moment on earth… and not one sentence worth typing down. Not one sentence worthy of being told in my story. I could just see it now: a small cherub like child sitting on the lap of her ancient grandmother who was swinging in a rocking chair. A quilted blanket covering her wobbly knees and her ancient hands gnarled by time.

Still, her face shining with kindness and love for her grandchild as she tells the story of her famous niece. And when it ends the child claps her small cute hands in delight, her little face shining with laughter and glee despite the sorry nature of the tale or the sad, sad ending. For she is small and has no knowing of death, only heroes and unicorns and princesses rescued by prince charming on a white horse.

She doesn’t know yet prince charming doesn’t ride a horse anymore, let alone a white one. Unicorns are long since gone, supposing they ever did roam the earth, and heroes? Well, heroes are just the name we give the sorry souls too stupid to live.

"And what were her last words, grandmother?" she asks innocently, gazing up with eyes filled with trust and innocence. An innocence I have long since lost though I am still a virgin, uhm, anyway. Grandmother looks down then, embarrassment in her eyes as she softly chuckles. "Oh put a lid on it!" she said, "That famous niece of mine did. To this day no one knows what, exactly, she meant by that."

Yeah, that is my legend. That of a vague tale nobody understands. Put a lid on it Sin, this is neither the place nor the time.

And then there was no time at all because the gun landed, the butt of the gun landing first with a loud 'thunk'. I gaped at it, daring to hope and yet not giving in to hoping. For a second I thought I had made it, would live to see another day.

Then the mouth of the gun tilted towards me as gravity once more made a claim on it. Something clicked and I saw the mechanisms shifting to make way for the bullet. A shadow flitted over my face and I saw a shoe entering my line of vision. If it was supposed to be a rescue it came too late.

Too little too late.

As if from the pages of a macabre scene I had sentences shooting through my head. Euphemisms and understatements, hyperboles and what else they're called. Another click and something glistened in the darkness of the gaping mouth still spelling my doom.

<Wow, who knew I had it in me to be so poetic after all?>

The last rays of the sun hit me before a shadow took the light away, how a propos to die in the dark. I once heard someone saying that everyone dies alone. Whether it is in the middle of a gala or somewhere in the desert, in the end we all die alone.

I never knew what he meant by that until now. Never knew how you could die alone when you were so clearly surrounded by dozens of souls. Now I knew, because even with the seven or eight other people on this bus; I felt alone.

I heard a whizzing sound over the buzzing in my ear and realized it was the sound of the bullet heading towards me. I could see it now, the small black dot, reflecting light away from it. Almost as if its purpose made it so dark it could tolerate no light.

There was no way I could survive a second bullet, I realized that. For beside the fact I was weak with blood loss and other ailments, this bullet was too close and would cause too much damage. I may be a novice when it comes to weapons, but even I knew that the closer you were to so much force, the bigger the entry and exit whole would be. And that only considering it would exit and not get stuck in my body, festering slowly so I could die more slowly.

That idea didn’t strike me as a smart one either.

I figured that either way I was beyond screwed. Lovely way to leave the world. At least I wouldn’t leave it as I had entered it, screaming and with a red head and waving fists in anger and powerlessness.

I would leave it with my head held high and silent. Proud, fierce and worthy of remembering.

I would leave my own legacy behind in the form of an end to this hostage thing. It would be a nice thought.

The bullet left the gun, darting towards me in all speed and without rescue in sight. It was okay, I had made my peace with it. Not really, but they say you are what you pretend to be so I pretend to be ready, sue me. Snort, bit hard to sue a dead girl.

Grave humor. Or did you call it black humor? Either way, I possess it, soon to be possessed.

I took my gaze from the rapidly approaching bullet and looked outside. We had stranded in a meadow, lush cornflower fields swinging softly in the wind. There was a typical Dutch Van Gogh sky going on, sheep clouds and rays of sun included. Some cows were grazing lazily, their jaws going left and right, back and forth.

In the distance you could see a tractor, hailing some hay stacks or maybe weeding or seeding. I hoped he got a good harvest; he deserved it for working on the land day and night.

I felt something grazing my skin, entering my body with such force my body jerked up. How degrading. The last hope I had felt died, the bullet had gone through my neck and by the amount of warmth spreading as I grew cold I knew it had at the very least nicked an artery.

Sayonara world. Cynara is leaving you, I hope to return someday soon. No wait, that is a pathetic last line, even if only spoken in the confines of my own mind.

I wonder what dying will be like, will I go out with a metaphorical bang, will I see a white light or go through a tunnel? Or, Goddess forbid, will I feel myself sinking down and entering some sort of hell? I wonder if I will stay conscious, maybe it is just a matter of leaving your body behind until you can get born into a new one.

Will I meet the gods? If so, which ones? I suppose now I will find out all the answers to my questions. Like will Tohr return, will John Matthews ever get over his trauma? And Layla, I hope she gets a male of worth. (For the novices among us, characters in the books or J.R. Ward.)

With luck I will be able to experience all the years to come as if they are now. It would be neat to be able to read all books of a series in one go. I guess if you have to find a positive in dying that one's as good as any.

I feel blackness descending, my gaze is narrowing, my peripheral vision narrowing down until I feel like I'm wearing those things skittish horses wear pulling carts. For the life of me I can't find the word, annoying, if I live after all I guess that will bug me no end.

Considering my state of numbness I don't think I will, survive that is.

It is so darn cold. So damned cliché. So bloody dark. I can see the sun but it is almost as if it is inversed. The light doesn’t reach me anymore. I hope that doesn't mean I am heading towards a bad place.

The numbness is spreading.

I can’t feel my legs anymore.

I'm lying in a pool of warmth.

I'm lying in my own blood.

Why is no one putting a pressure cloth on my neck? Why is no one helping me?

It is silent, so silent. So dark. So cold. So alone.

So sad…

…so…sad…