Bus Stories

bus story · bruised


He was bruised.
Out of confidence.
He walked with a hunch.
The heavy bag slung over
His shoulders down.
They bumped.
He looked.
No words were said.
He received no apology.
He was bruised.

originally published 2015

Bruised, a short story

Mornings, they were always something of a hassle. Though Robin Snow would rather spend the day lazying about, she would go ahead and take the 9 AM bus like clockwork. The same bus driver would greet her a friendly good morning after greeting the person before her and before the passenger behind.

She would, like any other time, bee-line to the back of the bus and lean her head on the window to settle into a deep sleep.

Robin could careless about the sun rising and setting and the people boarding and un-boarding. Yet, she often found her eyes staring at these insignificant details in her life especially when sat for an hour waiting for her bus.

Today was like all other days.

Her eyes fell on a curious dilapidated old man around his forties who looked gloomier than the weather.

She’d always loved cloudy days over sunny ones but the sight of him made the world somber.

He walked with a hunch, his shoulders slumped and beaten by the work of the day that had barely begun for her. The bag slung across his body pulled him closer to the ground. His face drooped in assumed sorrow. He looked beaten and out of his element as he bumped shoulders with those passing by.

Life had forgotten him.

Unknowingly, the bus arrives.


  1. In your short caption, you illustrate a clear visual of the downtrodden. Nice…

    1. (you may notice I’ve moved…)

      Thanks so much for reading this story. I should really continue this series as I have them written in a journal collecting dust.

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