The Same Old Rut

The sound of a passing hooter startled me awake. My groggy eyes adjusted to the brightness in the bus and my hand hurt. I realised that I was tightly clutching something and my palm was inflamed with the shape of it. My ring. Returning it to my finger, I looked at my tattered wrist watch. I'd only drifted off for a couple of minutes but it felt like hours.

My mind thought back to the dream I just had. So real. A gold mine. I got out my diary and started to scribble words and details so I wouldn't forget. The writer in me took over and soon I was entrapped in my own world. Everything still vivid in my mind but already starting to fade away slowly.

This time I dreamed about a bright eyed girl named Moira. Moira’s character was powerful. She pulled the strings in most situations and always got her way. Oh, she was tough alright, and I envied her. She was everything I wanted to be. Strong, fearless – a fixer. People would hire her if they had a problem – anything at all – and she would get the job done, no matter what it took. I dreamed about her a lot and most of my writing had come from the adventure dreams she took me on. There were others too, but none dominated my dreams like Moira did. She was the girl in my dreams.

There was only one problem. The girl in my dreams always looked exactly like me. But I was nothing special, so I decided to embellish Moira’s features for my writing. Her character contrasted heavily with my own dark brown hair and even darker eyes.

Still caged in my mind, I read the words that I had just written back to myself in my head:

'The girl’s sandy hair flew across her face. She wielded her precious sword encrusted with diamonds and rhinestones in the shape of ancient symbols. Fiercely, she looked back at her opponent. Blood dripped from his mouth and some teeth were lying on the floor, evidently his. His hands were held up, clearly in a surrendering motion, as he begged for his life. The sweat on his face plastered his hair to his forehead. Moira’s eyes shone with malice and callousness. She lifted the sword, ready to strike this helpless man. Her head swam with a sweet melody of an inappropriate nursery rhyme. Mother used to sing this to her all the time. She hummed the words, the sword descending on the man’s throat-'

"Excuse me?" Someone tapped me from behind, bringing me back to the real world.

"Yeah?" I asked, clearly annoyed. I was in the zone and I could feel the dream slipping away like smoke through my fingers.

"Could you pick up my lip gloss, please?"

I looked around to face a girl so bright she could be comparable to the sun. Like she even needed any more lip gloss. Her cheeks glittered gold and her hair shinning yellow, caught the sun, and glowed more.

She was beautiful, which made me even more annoyed. She was a Gem. Gems were beings who were outragiously good-looking and could get men to fall at their feet with a toss of their tressels. Her kind didn't ride the bus. Yet, here she was, flaunting her 'assets'.

"Can't see it," I lied. One quick sweep of the floor gave me away.

"It’s right there." She pointed at it.

"Oh. There. Didn't see it." I ignored her.

"What's your problem?"

"Nothing, Gem."

"What'd you just call me?"

"Gem. That's what you are, aren't you? Don’t worry, I know. You don't have to hide it. What are you doing on a bus, anyhow?"

"I don't know what you're talking about,” she said carefully. “I'm just trying to get home.” She narrowed her eyes at me when I didn’t budge with my stone faced façade. “Are you alright?"

I gave a cold laugh. "Like you care."

"I probably don't, seeing as I just met you two seconds ago. All I want is my lip gloss back."

I picked it up and shoved it to her. "There."

The Gem looked stunned but didn't comment.

'Hope you drown in it. Oh, wait. Looks like you already have,' I silently added.

The bus made a stop and I was thrown back in my seat. The jerk made her drop her lip gloss again. Oh, cruel fate.

She didn't ask for it this time. Probably scared I knew her secret. Gems weren’t supposed to be out in public and if I told on her then she could get into trouble. But still, thinking back to my knowledge about Gems, they weren’t evil creatures. They were just unnaturally outstanding, beauty and body wise. Not very clever. Even though I didn't like Gems, I wasn't heartless. Well, not entirely. I picked up the lip gloss and handed it back to her. Only it wasn't her.

Well, it looked like her, but dimmed. Her yellow hair was just blonde and her skin, pale. It glowed red from the heat instead of like the sun. She looked almost afraid to take it from my hand. What had just happened?

'Gems aren't real', a voice in my head told me. The girl's face went from fear to confusion and back to fear. Why wasn't she glowing anymore?

'She was never glowing in the first place', the same voice said. 'She’s just a normal person, like you, going home on the bus.'

Only at this point I think the former was incorrect because I wasn't feeling very normal. I knew there was at least one crazy person on the bus. I always thought it was the old guy wearing a toupee. Now, seeing the girl’s face, it looked like I was it. Oh great. I gave the poor girl her lip gloss back and wanted to apologize but just couldn't bring myself to do it. She took it without question as if expecting me to bite her head off again. Who could blame her?

Twelve agonizingly painful minutes later, the bus reached my stop and I rushed out. Being on my feet again made the full weight of the pain in their soles even more prominent. My job required standing all day and this was the consequence - aching feet. I stepped out, thankful to get out of the tension that filled the bus. The tension I had singlehandedly created. 

An instant burst of cold air caught hold of my clothes and started swinging it wildly. Living in Durban, one had to be accustomed to the ridiculous temperatures. We experienced symptoms of all four seasons in just one day. The sun shone but the blistering wind made it cold as hell. Hugging myself, I trudged forward. About a minute later I found myself looking at an old brown flat with black tinted windows and white windowpanes. My home. A dead pot plant lay on one of the panes and an orange cat, unoriginally named Tabby, slept soundly on another. The building went up six stories and seemed to be touching the sky. It also looked like it could crumble at any moment. The only thing attractive about the delapidated building was the big red door engraved with gold plates saying: 'Welcome'.

But even that attraction was tainted by the beggars that littered the pavement. None of those homeless people asked me for money, though. They all knew I was one step away from being one of them. Happy to be out of the cold, I ran inside my concrete safe haven.

Convincing myself that it was good for my health, I passed the elevator and took the stairs up to the 4th floor. Elevators scared me anyway. Especially this one. I trusted it as much as I did that cat, which was not at all. Rummaging for my keys in my backpack, I didn't notice someone sneak up behind me. When I felt the hand on my shoulder, I screamed bloody murder.