The London Dead Bus: A Short Story

It has been a long time since I last wrote about my experience running around London, and my weighing scale clearly shows it. It was unfortunate that on the day I felt inspired to run for hours on end, I was met with my greatest fear as a pedestrian in London.

I was following the path of Bus 13 south, towards St John's Wood station. It was customary for me to run on the right hand side of the road, as advised by my esteemed PE teacher, so that I was aware of the happenings on the road. However, there was this one unfortunate fool who did not know about my wise educator's methodology, and made the worst, and last mistake of his life, by running alongside the road / pavement boundary with his back towards the oncoming traffic.

The whole scene happened in the blink of my eye. I could see the man keeping a steady pace running towards me, and out of the corner of my eye, I could also see Bus 13 hurdling it's way on the bus lane. At the moment the front of the bus passed the runner, the man tripped and slipped towards his right, putting his head in the path of the red bus. With a sickening thud, I heard the man's neck snap as the bus's left side view mirror made contact.

I wondered why the runner's head was getting larger and larger even though his body remained motionless. And then it hit me. Literally. The force of the collision decapitated the man, and his head was the ball to the bus's mirror. In a matter of milliseconds, the runner's head transfered from his neck to my hands. I could feel the bile going up my throat and soon the countenance resting on my arms was covered with a thick layer of my breakfast.

This experience has definitely deterred my desire to continue running regularly. I still enjoy the wind blowing through my clothes, and the sun rays beating down on my ever increasing bald spot. However I decided to take another break from my passion until the tragedy escaped my memories.