A Chilling Welcome

woods

  The bus pulled up after its long journey, rumbling exhausted into place. The snow was thicker this far out of town, virginal, piled high at the sides of the road, white banks that threatened to swallow a shorter girl whole. Red decided someone should put up a sign – you must be this high to enter the snow.

  “Last stop, Miss, last stop,” called the driver, his eyes locked onto Red’s in the rear view. Unblinking they waited for her to get up, grab her bag and sling it around her should before finally making her way towards the front.

  “Nice night for it, miss,” he said as she reached his little cabin. As she glanced at him she half expected some monstrosity to be behind the wheel, his human eyes staring out from some demon face.

  “Nice night for what, exactly?” she asked, relieved upon finding him to be the ordinary man she had bought her ticket from forty minutes prior.

  “The woods are lovely, dark and deep,” he began, mysterious as he intended to finish, “but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.”

  “Fancy yourself a poet, mister?” Red asked, unimpressed. A repeated line, by her reckoning, didn’t count as a rhyme.

  “Me, Miss? No,” he laughed, as if this were a real hoot, “That’s Robert Frost. A learned individual like yourself should know such things. ”

  “I see,” Red said, tiring quickly of the light conversation that would no doubt make the drivers day. She nodded him goodbye and stepped down the slick steps towards the road.

  “Take care, Miss.” he called after her, “The woods are half as lovely and twice as dark as Mr. Frost would have you believe.” At this he chuckled again and, before she could turn – not that she was planning to – she heard the doors hiss shut behind her and the engine roar to life, startling her in the quiet of the winter’s eve. She felt the hot air of its exhaust blow past her in a smog of foul smelling fumes and steeled herself against the cold that remained as the bus raced away, as if hurried to get back to the station. Or out of this place.

AUTHOR’S NOTE:
As always, really enjoying writing this. What’s more, I managed to fit in a line of one of my favourite poems from my all time favourite poets. Robert Frost is a God amongst men, and helped me become the aspiring writer I am today.

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~ by Joseph Blame on February 15, 2011.

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