Strangers
The strange man was there again. He’d
seen him three other times this week. The man never spoke, just hovered close
by. He hoped the bus would come soon. He glanced at his watch. Seven minutes. Why
did he always have to get places early? He didn’t like this man. He’d never gotten
on the bus. He just stood there, waiting for it, it would seem. But he never
got on. He was staring at him. It would be rude to not say hello.
“Hello, how are you?” he asked the
stranger.
“I’m doing well. How are you?” came
the reply with forced politeness.
“Doing well…” He searched for
something else to say. The man was waiting for him to continue. His impatience
showed only through his eyes. His dark, searching, impatient eyes. He swallowed
hard before he spoke. “How is your day going?”
“It sucks. That’s why I’m doing so
well.” The sarcasm was unavoidable. “It’s going well, what did you think,
numbskull?”
“Sorry…didn’t mean to offend.” His
fear was beginning to mount. Something wasn’t right. Not right at all.
Something wasn’t right about this man.
“It’s fine. It’s fine.” But it wasn’t
fine. He knew it. And so did the stranger who had offended him. “Don’t worry
about it,” he said and walked away muttering to himself incomprehensibly.
Relief flooded through him. He felt
emboldened by his retreat. “Little touchy…” he muttered.
“I heard that!” the man cried,
turning around. His face expressed his rage. There was no need for words. “You
think I’m deaf?” he asked, stalking back angrily to the place he was standing.
He backed away from the stranger. “Hey,
hey, it’s okay…” he said with rising panic. “Look, calm down. I didn’t mean
anything by it! I swear!”
“Oh, but you did…” he said menacingly,
then under his breath, “And now you’ll pay…”
“No, please. I really didn’t! Oh…Oh
God…No!” He couldn’t even run. He told his legs to. But they didn’t listen. No
one ever did.
The bus pulled up and came to a
stop.
He raised the knife and drove it
into his chest.
A scream of agony rent the air.
He repeated the thrust.
He fell to the ground. “Didn’t…didn’t
mean…to offend…”
He smiled “You are forgiven, my
son.” He walked away, wiping the blood from the knife onto his coat.
He slumped over dead.
“What happened here?” the police
officer asked.
The bus driver fought to keep her
composure. “I couldn’t stop him… Stabbed himself, then smiled and said ‘You are
forgiven.’”
