I’m about to use a writing prompt that generates a character, setting, item of intrigue, and theme. I realized that I’ve been honing more of my character development skills when really, I should be focused on plot and storytelling, which I haven’t really studied since high school. So, here’s a short story.
There were three passengers on the bus: an old man with a curly gray beard, a sleeping woman whose hands were hidden inside a large orange purse on her lap, and an obnoxious loiterer who was also my friend.
Naturally, I was the bus driver. I wasn’t one in profession, actually, but I was still the one driving the public bus, so I would consider myself one in spirit.
As it were, there was a long train going by with no end in sight. My good friend, the loiterer, was pacing up and down the aisle of the bus. From the rearview mirror, it appeared that the other two passengers didn’t mind it (one was fully asleep to be fair), but still, I felt that it was no good and urged, “If you want to walk, get off the bus. I don’t want to wait for you to find a seat again when the train’s gone.”
“There are so many open seats, are you really worried about that?” My friend poked my shoulder before turning back to start another lap about the bus. “I feel like one of those airplane assistants. Look. Whitney, don’t you think I look like them?”
“No, not at all. You look like that one business class person who makes the entire plane wait ten minutes after schedule.”
“Well, you’re not looking. The mirror doesn’t do me justice. Sir, what do you think? Don’t I look like a flight attendant?” Before I could protest, my good friend leaned against the seat of the old man and spoke rapidly: “Just imagine that I have the whole suit on, and that my hair was gelled back and I had gloves on. Black gloves. Or would they be white? What do you think, white gloves or black gloves?”
“The last time I was on an airplane should have been twenty years ago. Look at my hands, where do you think I’ve been?” The old man showed his palms to my friend. They were dark and weathered with fingernails worn down to the quick.
My friend took only a glance before shrugging, “I can’t tell. Do you work out at the beach or something?”
“Work out? Heh, barely. I work at the shipyard down at Catalina. I don’t go to the sea as much as I’d like, but that’s how it goes when you get to my age. People keep you from doing things, though I’m perfectly healthy! On the other hand, if I stopped doing my job as usual, I’d be losing my good health, I’d say. At that point, I’ve only got retirement ahead of me — I’m not suited for that, though. I’ve got to keep moving or else I’d rather die, you know?”
Here, the old man coughed heavily into his fist for a few seconds before continuing: “You walking up and down the aisle doesn’t remind me of anything human. Is that good?”
“No— huh? Or, I mean, no. What do you mean by that? Like I look like an animal?”
“Eh, ah, yeah. You just don’t look like anything human to me.”
“Sit down, the train should be ending soon.” I frowned and tried to signal to my friend to stop talking to the old man. I didn’t have a good feeling about him from the start, and from these few words, I was certain that nothing good would come from our encounter. If I wasn’t the bus driver, I would have walked off the bus at this point and hitchhiked home with or without my friend.
Although, I suppose it would be safer to talk with this guy rather than hitchhiking with strangers.
“Yeah, go on and sit there. What’s your name, kid?” My friend and the old man seemed to lightly acknowledge my words and continued talking without a hitch.
“Emile. Call me Emmy, it’s easier.”
“Oh! What do you know? Emile is my name as well. Looks like our meeting was fate.” The old man smiled happily, half obscured by his bushy beard. “What do you do for a living?”
“Honestly, nothing at the moment. Up ’til recently I’ve been crashing at my friend’s place — yeah, Whitney, the one driving us — but I don’t have a good direction for my future, you know. So nothing.”
“Emmy—”
“It’s chill, I don’t care.” My friend interrupted.
“Hey, that’s fine. It’s perfect if you have nothing going on, it means you can be anyone.” The man comforted. “You were talking about being a flight attendant though — don’t you want to try that?”
“Yeah, but the hours, man. You get to travel a lot when you work on a plane, but I’ve also heard that you don’t get a lot of time off.”
“That can’t be true. The body needs time to adjust.”
“It’s just what I heard. Man, once upon a time, when I was a kid, I really wanted to be one of those people who dressed up smart in a suit and everything. Flight attendants all have that ‘it’ factor, you know? I don’t know, do you think I could do it?”
Seeing how seriously Emmy asked him, the man scratched his beard and gave Emmy a one-over. I found their interaction to be a little unbearable and looked away, right at the dastardly train that kept me from going forward. Maybe I should have stolen— I should have driven a train instead. Then we’d be getting somewhere.
I heard my friend say, “You looked for a long time, what do you think?”
“If you want to be a flight attendant, you could be one.” There was a shrug in the man’s words that made me frown once more.
“Heh heh, don’t be polite.” Saying this, it was obvious that my friend was pleased and continued to laugh happily.
“But! You’ve got to make that change. What are you willing to do to become that person? What are you willing to do to get off of your friend’s couch and change?”
“Woah, uh, I don’t know. Just go to flight attendant school, I guess.”
“Look, just start here. Start where you know you can change based off of your own power. Just like this.” The man snapped his fingers. Emmy fell silent, as if deep in thought.
I took another glance at the rearview mirror, but only saw Emmy and the sleeping woman. I turned in search of the old man, but still, only found Emmy, who was staring off into space, and the woman, who didn’t awaken throughout the entire conversation.
“Emmy, where’d he go? That old guy.” I asked.
“What? Is that what you think of me?” Said Emmy.
The character is young, reserved, and formal. The setting is a bus. There is someone who was emotionally traumatized by a trip at sea. The overall theme is: stubbornness.
I more so used the words for inspiration than the actual content of the sentences. The ending I wrote was abrupt, and I’m not really satisfied with it. This is representative of my current writing though: There is bare detail, but no content; there is intent, but no story. I look forward to growing in ability.
