(no subject)
Who: Amber Holloway
Where: Silent Hill Bus Depot
Rating: G
Summary: The wheels on the bus go round and round, and Amber goes into town.
There wasn't another soul on the old, run-down bus. Unless you counted the driver, anyway, but who pays attention to a bus driver? The solitude suited Amber fine, though. No idiots to deal with, no boring, emptyheaded small talk, nobody growling or shouting or sneering. Just her and her bag and the low drone of the motor trees flowing past outside.
But it was still weird. It was West Virginia, and who wants to go there? But... not even anybody passing through.
"Maybe it's just off season," she murmured, slouching down in her seat.
She hadn't really bothered to check the destination; "anywhere but here" was all she cared about at the time. Just leaving, getting away from the rest of the world. She stared at the green-brown blur outside, letting it take her thoughts away from the world.
Her hand, toying with the bag's zipper, slid inside, crawling through the miscellaneous pile until it closed on a soothingly familiar shape. Smooth plastic, sitting easily in her palm. Red cap, the pocket clip already broken off.
She'd tried to quit the habit before, after the first "defacing property" charge; throw out the markers and get a new start and make Mom proud and not get yelled at. It lasted all of two days before she'd found herself carving on her new desk at school with a pair of scissors.
The guidance counselor couldn't tell what was wrong. Neither could the shrinks they sent her to. Mom couldn't ground it out of her. And Amber couldn't stop it. The best she'd done was to keep it confined to notebooks and call it drawing, though only freaks and wannabe Wiccans drew weird occult symbols and freaky pictures. (Actually, they usually just drew roses and bats and eyes with dark tears.)
She watched dully as her hands acted of their own will, uncapping the marker and reaching up to the window. A circle, a circle inside that. Three in a triangle inside those. And then the weird squiggles and lines. Where did it all come from? She was sure she'd never seen it before in her life, nothing like it. But she always drew it, always the same, without even thinking.
With a screech, a forward lurch, and the hissing pop of air brakes, the bus stopped, and the door opened. Quickly capping the marker and shoving it back into her bag, Amber stood and fled the vehicle, disappearing into the bus station before the driver could notice what she'd done.
This place was empty, too, not even a ticket worker behind the counter. The lights were off. The janitors had clearly not been doing their job- grafitti, stains, and peeling posters decorated the walls. A sign overhead read "Silent Hill Bus Depot."
"That tourist trap, huh?" She moved through the room, her boots creaking dully on the tile. "At least I can have some fun here." Snagging a map from a rack, she pushed open the swinging doors and stepped out into the fog.
Where: Silent Hill Bus Depot
Rating: G
Summary: The wheels on the bus go round and round, and Amber goes into town.
There wasn't another soul on the old, run-down bus. Unless you counted the driver, anyway, but who pays attention to a bus driver? The solitude suited Amber fine, though. No idiots to deal with, no boring, emptyheaded small talk, nobody growling or shouting or sneering. Just her and her bag and the low drone of the motor trees flowing past outside.
But it was still weird. It was West Virginia, and who wants to go there? But... not even anybody passing through.
"Maybe it's just off season," she murmured, slouching down in her seat.
She hadn't really bothered to check the destination; "anywhere but here" was all she cared about at the time. Just leaving, getting away from the rest of the world. She stared at the green-brown blur outside, letting it take her thoughts away from the world.
Her hand, toying with the bag's zipper, slid inside, crawling through the miscellaneous pile until it closed on a soothingly familiar shape. Smooth plastic, sitting easily in her palm. Red cap, the pocket clip already broken off.
She'd tried to quit the habit before, after the first "defacing property" charge; throw out the markers and get a new start and make Mom proud and not get yelled at. It lasted all of two days before she'd found herself carving on her new desk at school with a pair of scissors.
The guidance counselor couldn't tell what was wrong. Neither could the shrinks they sent her to. Mom couldn't ground it out of her. And Amber couldn't stop it. The best she'd done was to keep it confined to notebooks and call it drawing, though only freaks and wannabe Wiccans drew weird occult symbols and freaky pictures. (Actually, they usually just drew roses and bats and eyes with dark tears.)
She watched dully as her hands acted of their own will, uncapping the marker and reaching up to the window. A circle, a circle inside that. Three in a triangle inside those. And then the weird squiggles and lines. Where did it all come from? She was sure she'd never seen it before in her life, nothing like it. But she always drew it, always the same, without even thinking.
With a screech, a forward lurch, and the hissing pop of air brakes, the bus stopped, and the door opened. Quickly capping the marker and shoving it back into her bag, Amber stood and fled the vehicle, disappearing into the bus station before the driver could notice what she'd done.
This place was empty, too, not even a ticket worker behind the counter. The lights were off. The janitors had clearly not been doing their job- grafitti, stains, and peeling posters decorated the walls. A sign overhead read "Silent Hill Bus Depot."
"That tourist trap, huh?" She moved through the room, her boots creaking dully on the tile. "At least I can have some fun here." Snagging a map from a rack, she pushed open the swinging doors and stepped out into the fog.