Life in Fiction (Part 1)

She sat on the bus, suddenly overwhelmed by the nothingness that had so often visited her at times like this. It wasn't scary. In fact the nothing brought a sense of comfort. It allowed her to distance herself from the world. She looked out at the passing streets, at the people. It was weird thinking they all had their individual stories, people with their own thoughts and feelings. It was something she enjoyed doing, imagining the lives of others. She would sit and watch the world pass her by, happily living in a world of fiction.

The man who stood on the edge of the road with his two spaniels, she imagined had problems sleeping, enjoyed playing Scrabble and had a drink problem. The woman holding her blonde hair to prevent it flying about too much in the wind, well, she was an identical twin, but her twin was far more successful than her, and lived with a man ten years her junior in Australia. The little boy who appeared to have been swallowed by his backpack was actually a child prodigy and had mastered Latin by the age of seven. These were all the mini stories she told herself as she watched the world unfold in front of her, a spectator to the game of life.

You can't remain encompassed in the realm of fiction, though. She had to step out into the real world. The bus slowed to a halt at its stop in the middle of town, where a majority of people got off, a myriad of yelling school children and dazed looking tracksuit-clad adults. That's when he got on. 

He sauntered onto the bus, with a cane in his left hand, tapping on the side of each chair as he slowly edged his way up the aisle. The clack of his alligator shoes combined with his cane and disjointed whistling made a melody of old man. Even as the bus pulled out from the stop, he never faltered with his elderly grace. His eyes seemed to dance about the bus, his choice in seat like a game show, his very presence the prize. After contemplating his decision for a brief moment, the man positioned himself in the space next to her. He sat with his back straight, his blue eyes pale with age focused on the road ahead. They sat like that for a few minutes, her slumped next to the window, him upright, his eyes looking straight ahead in an unwavering stare. 

He turned to her quickly, and quietly said "let me tell you a story", whilst unwrapping a packet of polos from his pocket. He offered her one. She accepted, trying to suppress the instinctive thought that taking sweets from strangers may not be a good idea from her mind. She imagined him a war veteran, or possibly a secret millionaire who revealed their fortunes to the unsuspecting on various bus journeys. 

"It might not be a very interesting story" he began, swapping the cane to his right hand, "but I believe it can help you." he looked at her, "Although I would like you to do one thing for me first." his eyes settled back to the front of the bus. She immediately assumed it would be some creepy sexual gratification the old man would be wanting. She didn't reply, just nodded towards this man with the alligator shoes who smelt of a combination of mint and tobacco. 

"You must, for the benefit of my story, assume that nothing is quite what it seems, although I promise what I tell you is all very much true." He looked back at her, "Could you do that for me?"

Part 2

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Noah’s Ark.

Well me and N-dog, as I liked to call him, were chilling on deck, the rain more a sprinkle than its usual waterfall, doing things which the G-man may not have been too proud of. The waves had been a bit turbulent that day, crashing their heavy hands on the side of the ark with a none too gentle caress. We were discussing that morning’s events, sipping a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, when out of the blue N-dog asks “Do you think this is it?”

       You see, I’d known N-dog a long, long time. He was around six hundred years old, after all. But our conversations had never revolved around questions of the existential variety. Which might come as a surprise to most, but really Noah had always been pretty light-hearted and jovial about our particular predicament. The whole forty days and forty nights of rain were always portrayed a little more dramatically than what actually went down. Of course, it had its downsides, sure, but on the whole I thought we were getting used to a life at sea.

       We walked down towards the main hold of the ark. The snuffles and grunts of the animals could be heard, along with the pungent aroma which drifted up and filled the nostrils like a farmyard bouquet. N-dog patted the rump of a fine looking moose. The creature made a noise which is rather indescribable, unless you have actually witnessed the cry of a moose for yourself.  Noah finally turned to look at me, his grey wizened eyes settling on my face. 

    “This world… this beautiful land that we live in. It’s being destroyed. It will always be destroyed. If man continues to walk this earth, it will remain in a constant state of war, one which it cannot win.”


      His words, although poignant and most likely important were however drowned out by the cacophony of animal noises. I didn’t get a chance to reply, as the ark was abruptly tipped sideward. Our bodies lurched starboard. The sound of hundreds of animals being slammed against gopher wood resonated throughout the ark. However, we had become used to such turbulence from our many days at sea, so things quickly calmed down. Noah turned to me once again. 


  “Think of all the species we have lost! The nardvilles, the frantelope, the eedlark - so many have gone to waste! And for what? I sometimes question that man’s motives. It just seems like he’s doing it because, well, he can. Our once rich, verdant environment is lost to this abominable flood! How I yearn to place my feet on solid ground, to feel the grass tickle my toes, the soil beneath my feet!” Noah paused, catching his breath, tears threatening to escape and run down his weathered face. He continued, “This flood. It’s just here to wipe us out. He wants to start afresh, his beautiful flawless globe that he had formed, like his own child, was being damaged, by us, his very own creations. He had perfection, we destroyed it! He knows it would have died if we’d continued living, that we’d pollute it with fumes that it would be unable to choke out. I’ve heard things. Terrible things, new technology, steel contraptions, chemicals, he couldn’t let that happen, surely it would be the end of us all!”

 I told N-dog to lay off the wine before lunch.