God, she was an ugly bitch. Not the sort of ugly you’d notice from a distance, the sort of ugly that you can only perceive when you are close enough to see their soul. She worked in one of those up-themselves lingerie shops that would turn away people above size zero, using phrases like “Terribly sorry, but we aren’t equipped to meet your needs”, but actually meaning “Christ, you’re a fat one aren’t you?”.
I don’t take the bus too often. If there is any possible way I can avoid it I do, even if it means taking a hideously contrived route. People like this girl were the reason why. She had blocked me into my seat, indecipherable pop-garbage blaring from her mp3 player of choice making her oblivious to the world as she re-applied make-up to her already heavily caked face.
My stop was coming up fast and, being one of those polite people, I tried to make it clear that I intended to alight soon. The old tricks came into play: shifting my bag, staring intently out the window, turning slightly towards her, even staring right at her. Not one of them worked. I rang the bell and asked her to move, quite politely. I suppose she must not have heard, or she ignored me, because move she did not.
The bus had stopped.
I had only one choice left, I’d have to climb over her. I was a little concerned about such an action however, she was terribly thin. I worried that I might break her with an ill-placed step if I wasn’t careful. These thoughts soon subsided and I slammed her out the way and ran from the bus.
She followed me. Having a skeletal advert against cosmetic surgery chase you down the street is not a good thing, especially as they seem to ignore things such as wind resistance and gravity. Logic would dictate that someone so thin shouldn’t be able to hold themselves upright for more than a few seconds without snapping, let alone run full-pelt. As anyone who has watched Star Trek can tell you, logic is crap.
The girl had nearly caught up to me when she fell over. I heard her go down, and I heard her hit the ground. What struck me as strange was that she didn’t make the usual “whump” that tends to accompany someone striking paving with their face. Instead there was a loud crash that reminded me of a mirror shattering. I turned around to get a good look. She had actually broken into hundreds of little shards! Her clothes were laid, perfectly normally, on the ground, still forming her shape somewhat, but her head and her hands were totally shattered.
I thought about calling an ambulance or something. I really did. In the end I didn’t bother.