Window #17

In the hairy darkness, our skin falls away. We move blindly along the floor. Unlike an airplane, the school bus is not equipped with emergency floor lighting. So we stumble on, bumping into each other. Without skin, it’s easy to merge. There are those who resist, who hide in the dark under the seats. They do not last long, for water moves quickly and everywhere. Nancy cries out, then her mouth floats away. Bob ebbs in the direction he thinks is that of the Bus Driver, hoping He will save him. We’re not sure if he makes it. Those with mouths try to speak, to coordinate our efforts, but the bus engine drowns them out. Perhaps the Bus Driver is flooring it to get up a hill. Perhaps there is a defect in the engine, and it will explode at any moment. For those with ears, the roar is deafening. Those of us without, note the terror in their faces and are glad for our loss. We wait for abatement, but it does not come. The noise grows louder. The bus pushes on.