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Bus Story: Staring Down the Watery Light

January 22, 2016

We ride through the dark downpour. The heater is blasting throughout the metal caravan, which creates the feeling that one has a fever, rather than anything pleasant. It’s a crowded morning, full of dripping umbrellas and bleary-eyed riders. She is sitting in a bank of seats facing sideways, dressed all in white – coat, blouse, long skirt, and boots – and all of which has been splashed, hither and yon, with brackish water. Her straight, black hair shines with the damp as it cascades over the sullied, used-to-be-white shoulders of her coat. With eyes closed, her face is contorted into a visage of concern with furrowed brow and a tightening around her eyes and mouth. Her breathing is deep, like that of someone fast asleep. And then I see three others, similarly decked out in white, seeming to be deeply asleep sitting upright. They all appear to be engaged in some sort of struggle in their dreaming state. As the bus rolls past Puget Sound, the water churning with the onslaught of rain, all four of their struggles intensify, and, for a moment, I could see massive shapes out in the deep, dark waters struggling to emerge.  But they are kept at bay by something luminous and shimmering. It isn’t often that deep water demigods stir in their slumber and attempt to exert their influences beyond their watery homes, but when they do, it is good to know that a cadre of shamans are on the 120 to keep that particular door firmly locked.

From → Bus Stories

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