The Guitarist on the Bus is the Reason im a Murderer Now.
I stood in the middle of the bus frantically twisting my head left and right to spot a free seat. Of course, there was none. It was a busy hour and my exhausted ass has been denied a seat yet again. I let out a sigh and walked to the end of the bus where a woman stood holding the handrails. I looked at her and she gave me an innocent shrug. What I didn’t realize of course was that this lady was the reason I was going to murder someone today.
“Hi my name is Christine.” She said while holding out a hand for me to shake. Her sweet smile and uncommon friendliness was kind of refreshing after a hard day at work.
We shook hands and I introduced myself. It was going to be a long ride, so didn’t hurt to have someone to talk to. She had a guitar case sling on her, and wore a simple pink shirt and baby blue jeans. We started talking, and the only thing I remember is she told me how her pet was always ruining her furniture at home.
“So is it a cat or a dog?” I asked.
She tilted her head and giggled, almost too long. “Oh… it’s a human.”
I let out a short laugh, waiting for her to explain.
She didn’t.
I joined in with a fake chuckle. She probably just has a bad sense of humor. She kept giggling for a while… and then suddenly stopped.
She straightened up, and in an almost robotic voice asked me if I had a wish. I was confused and asked her what she was talking about, to which she said that she was going to grant me one wish. One wish, that’s it. I could wish for anything I want and it was her guarantee that it would come true.
I laughed. I should have never laughed. I should have never taken it as a joke.
“Well, I would ask for a million dollars, but right now just getting a seat would do.” I joked back.
She as if possessed, started nodding violently. In a flash, she moved her head so up she’d be looking at the ceiling of the bus, and then just as quickly move it down to see the floor. She kept nodding for a few minutes while I stood there shocked at the suddenly strange behavior. She wasn’t laughing anymore. The friendliness that once flew in the air between us vanished and I could sense it.
“Are you… okay?” I asked nervously.
She stopped nodding and stared at me for a while. Then her lips curled up into the most non human smile I have ever seen. Her lips almost touched her ears and her eyes squinted in joy. Still smiling in her awful way, she removed the guitar sling and took out her guitar.
And she started playing music.
As soon as the music from her chords hit my ear, I felt my heart sinking. It was as if my whole body was contracting in fear. I felt… heavy.
After a while I stopped hearing the music. I could see her hands still moving and hitting the strings, but I heard no music. It was dead silent. Everything was dead silent. All the chatter of the passengers, all the sounds of the bus moving, all the music… drowned out.
I took a breath and calmed myself down. Why am I nervous? Why do I feel heavy? There is no reason. I am on a bus. I am going home after working my ass off all day for a thankless boss who never seems to give me the bonus or promotion. I am going to argue with the landlord about late rent again and then I will go watch the new movie I have been looking forward to. Nothing to feel heavy about. Everything is going to be okay.
Everything is going to be okay. And I am going to get a seat. My legs started to shake and my forehead was a patchwork of sweat. I needed to get a seat.
I looked around, still no free seats. But I saw an old man sitting. The old man had neatly combed white hair and held a stick while sitting comfortably. Why does he get to sit? It’s me who has worked all day. Why does he get to sit? He’s almost dead anyways. He should just try to be understanding and give his seat to me.
My head boiled with anger and before I could realize, my feet started stomping towards where the old man was sitting. I stood towering over the man as he looked at me confused. He had a weirdly satisfying fearful expression. He was scared, and rightfully so. I was going to get that seat.
I looked down at my hand and saw that I was holding a small metal pick. A guitar pick. A smile curled up on my lips as I looked back at the old man and started laughing. I could not hear my laughter, but I knew I was laughing like I never have. I could see the old man move his mouth in some blabber non sense he must have been saying while being confused. Not that I could hear him anyways.
After I got tired of laughing, I simply stared at the man and then in a flash raised my hand and plunged the pick in the mans eye. His face turned and twisted in pain. I liked it. He did not think about me, why would I think about him? I took out the pick and in a rage Ive never felt before, I slashed his throat with the metal pick. As he tried to clutch his throat helplessly, I laughed and pushed him down onto the floor. Then… I took his seat. Sweet sweet seat.
And then the sounds came back. The screams of the passengers around me. The gurgle of the poor old man as he died right in front of me. And the music. I heard the guitarist again. I looked back at her, and she was still smiling that same twisted evil smile.
I know no one is going to believe me. I know my case is a lost one. They would think I am just another lunatic who lost his mind.
But I remember the silence. I remember the music that wasn’t music. And I remember her smile.
I swear to you- I didn’t kill that man.
She did. She just used me to hold the pick.