The Last Man Standing

The Last Man Standing

The bus trundled along the poorly lit street. The lamps were low and flickered uncertainly in the gloom as the 442 made its way towards the town centre. The bus driver whose name was Thomas pulled over to pick up an old lady and two darkly clothed men.
         The doors swung open and the lady clambered on board. She smiled at Thomas and laid £5 in the tray.
         "Where are you going?" He asked her.
         "Bartholomew Lane," she replied dragging her shopping on after her and lodging it in the baggage space.
At the back of the bus Jack sighed. He was meant to be home half an hour ago but because of the bus he was late. Not only that but he was angry. He watched in growing annoyance as the two men pulled faces and made gestures at the driver as he fumbled around for some change to give to the lady. Next to Jack sat Mr Opine who seemed to be watching the scene with idle interest.
         "I don't like the look of those men," he said. "Keep hold of your bag and don't make eye contact." Jack nodded; he had been in involved with men like this before. By now the lady had settled herself in a seat near the front of the bus and the black man with a sparkling earring stepped forward, pulling a scruffy wallet from his pocket. Smiling slightly he said,
         "One ticket, pretty please," placing some 2 pence coins in the dish.
Suspiciously, Jack watched the men through narrowed eyes. Both were wearing hooded jumpers and baggy trackies. The white man stood further back with a grey and black box hat balanced fashionably on his head. They looked thuggish and streetwise.
Now the box hat man moved forward, just by the way he moved made Jack feel insulted. His hand went to his face were he scratched his stubble with his middle finger and gave Thomas a filthy look. Thomas was about to protest when the man caught Thomas's fist and slammed it into the tray the pennies rattled over the sound of the engine. Leaning over into his face he said,
         "One ticket to hell," he paused. "With a cherry on top."
It all happened so quickly. The box hat man pulled out a gun. The lady at the front screamed. The man lent even closer, pointing the gun in Thomas's face and demanding all of the money. Thomas refused and the trigger was pulled.
Then the shaking began.
Undulating tremors racked the small bus. The two thugs turned, panic stricken eyes, wary and large glanced around for the source of the steadily increasing shaking. The box hat mans eyes came to a rest upon Jack. They widened further than anyone would have thought possible as a throttled screamed was uttered from his lips. He bolted from the bus like a startled deer. The last man standing was the black guy. He pulled a second gun from his pocket and took aim. And one by one, all eyes turned towards the daunting drama unfolding before them.

***

A writhing zephyr of chaos curled effortlessly about Jack. His dark hair whipped at his face, his eyes shut in profound concentration. Fists clenched, he stood up, unconsciously frowning and muttering to himself.  He could see everything, although he had no control over it. The power burned inside him. A deep emerald flare raged and engulfed his mind.
In his thoughts he pictured a scene, of pure terror. And he was in the centre of it all. Around him was a whirlwind of dust, paper and rubbish. People left on the bus were gaping at him, their hands covering their faces. The black man pulled the trigger. He saw the heat coming of the bullet; he saw it speeding towards his heart, but he did not feel the impact. He felt the anger and the frustration and for the first time in his life he felt hatred of everything in his life. Jack let the power go.

***