The Text

For those of you who don't know, I have the propensity for writing stories set in bus-stops or on the bus.

Why? Partly cause I take the bus a lot, and it's a rather interesting place, but that's for another post. The bus-stop serves merely as the setting in this case, and doesn't play too much of a role.

It's a romance story, enjoy.

The Text:

He stared at the phone screen.

Dammit. How should he phrase it.

He quickly typed out the first thing that came to his head as he walked towards the bus stop. It was stupid, simple and plain he thought. Instantly he deleted it and came up with a more carefully considered message.

Too rambling, his mind reminded him. He furrowed his brow, and after 5 minutes came up with yet another message.

Hmmm, nothing seriously wrong with it he thought, sitting down on the bench without looking. But…what if, she read that wrongly. No, it wasn't saying enough. No, it was perfectly fine, if he deleted it he wouldn't be able to come up with anything better. His fingers hovered over the send button, but he found lacked the gumption to press it.

He forced his thumb downwards and mentally cursed himself as his mind practically screamed at him to stop, and was just about to go for a third try when he heard the loud screeching brakes of the bus. He hurriedly got into the back of the queue and when he looked down, he found the screen black, idle.

Irritatedly, he jammed the centre button, bringing the screen back to life, and also to his utmost horror, activating the send option. He jammed the red button on his phone. But it was too late, the message had been sent.

He facepalmed as he got on the bus and pressed his head against the pole, ignoring the mass of people swarming around him and squashing him from all sides, holding his phone closely to his chest. I'm doomed he thought, that’s it, I've messed up. She's not going to say anything to that.

He rued the missed chance, the wasted opportunity, his stupidity. He grieved for his future, once so bright, now as ashen as his face looked to anyone else on the bus who bothered to look at him, which was very forlornly ashen indeed.

The bus jerked and his face was brought briefly away from the pole for an instant, before the force ensured that both face and pole were reunited, violently. He gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to cry out. It would not do to let everyone in the bus think there was something wrong with him too.

Oh this was all your fault he thought, who asked you to take that stupid advice, now you're dead and doomed to eternal misery and solitude. Oh woe is me, I should throw myse-

Just then his phone beeped.

He glanced down and his heart skipped a beat.

Game on buster, game on.

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If you think it's interestingly real well that's cause it is, in the most part at least, naturally I fell to self parody.

If it isn't it means there's something wrong with the way I read my own stories.

As for who the unlucky girl is, let's just say it shall remain a secret.