It was noon when I was with my father at a park. There were bright yellow slides that you could slide down if you missed the dirty puddle that pooled at the end. It felt like hours you were sliding, but you’d always meet the ground again. I was laughing and having fun when my dad called me over. “Winnie!” “Coming, dad!” I yelled happily in reply. 

I speed-walked over with the crunchy sounds of the pale brown wood chips beneath each step. The air was crisp and it wasn’t too hot and it wasn’t too cold. The sun’s heat was a perfect combat to the sharp air.  

“Are you enjoying yourself? This was your reward for that 6th-grade paper you turned in,” He told me with a raise of an eyebrow. “Yes, I am! Thank you, Dad,” I said excitedly, going in for a hug like I always do,“I love you.” “I love you too,” he replied with a soothing voice when he gave me one of his hugs.

 Dad’s hugs were the best hugs. It always felt like he was squeezing all of your problems away. He gave nice, firm hugs. I loved his hugs because I felt safe whenever he hugged me. I guess because I’m his only child, I mean a lot to him. 

We were walking down the street to reach home when I noticed the times when the bus stopped printed in white. The tall, bright blue sign was still wet from the rain that we had the night before. While my dad was still walking, I decided to wait at the bench. My curiosity couldn’t contain itself. I watched my dad continue his silent stroll down the sidewalk. Watching him walk away made my stomach churn, but I was too ready to see where this bus would take me. 

Moments later, it stopped next to me and I walked in. The big bus driver’s dark blue shirt didn’t seem very welcoming. He demandingly put his hand out. His palm was very pale in contrast to the back of his red hands. I assumed he was looking for money. 

“Oh, uh. . .my mom is on the bus already, she wanted to pick me up from school,” I said, not quite sure where this was going. “It’s Saturday,” he said very firmly. “I had Saturday school today,” I explained, questioning myself. He took my word for it and rolled his eyes as he pointed with his thumb over his right shoulder to the back of the bus. 

I tiptoed down the middle to dodge everyone’s feet and elbows. I saw a tall, healthy woman sitting all by her lonesome, and to play up the story I told the bus driver, I sat down next to her. Her shirt was a spring blue that could catch your eye in a heartbeat. Her pastel pink handbag added an appreciative detail to her outfit. 

Each bump on the road made my stomach hurt more and more. Regret was burbling underneath my skin. 

I felt myself growing tired as the bus stop was disappearing. I started to count the potholes in my head as we hit them, just like I counted sheep at night. *kudunk!* One... *kudunk!* Two… *kudunk!* Three… *kshh* My eyes automatically opened from the unfamiliar sound. 

“We have arrived at the next stop,” the bus driver mentioned dully like he was falling asleep himself. To my luck, this was the lady that was impersonating my mother’s stop. I followed her shirt until we walked out of the blurry, dirty, cracked automatic glass doors. “I don’t remember those being cracked,” I thought to myself.

To my surprise, the moon was up high. It was shining against the wet bricks of the street. The air felt heavy, and it smelled musty and humid. The town I arrived at looked old. It had somewhat tall, dark red brick buildings. All of their windows were blocked off with black metal bars that you could barely see through the darkness of the weary night. 

Through some dense, rectangular bushes, I could see an orange, glowing light. I could hear people talking and having conversations. It reminded me of my elementary school cafeteria during lunchtime in the old days. Since that was the only light besides the glaring moonlight, I made my way over in a hurry. As I was jogging it became clear it was a nameless outdoor bar. 

There was a very tall, built man sitting on one of the bar stools. This man had a great big hat that made him look like he should be on a horse. His jeans were ripped and stained with a belt buckle that pulled it all together. His shirt was a red, stringy plaid, button-up that was buttoned all the way to his neck. His brown boots were perfectly fitting, but they were just as deteriorated as his pants. He had a cigarette hanging from his mouth. The red glow of the lit drug made his dirty face glow a warm, red color. 

“Hey,” his deep, crusted voice said to me when calling me over, with a thick southern accent. “What are you doing here all alone?” “I came here with my mom, she’s on the other side of this place,” I said confidently. “Well,“ he spoke, taking my word for it, “why don’t you stay here? I’ve got plenty of stories I’ve been wanting to tell someone.” Curiously, I agreed. 

We sat next to each other while he told me all kinds of stories. He told me of a time when he almost lost his life in quicksand, and a helpful tree was the only reason he’s still here today. He also told me of a time when his horse got sick and could’ve died. Luckily, his horse was alright in the end. 

Suddenly, it felt like slow motion when a man made his way out of a bush that was behind the establishment. The details weren’t clear as the only thing I saw was a shiny, grey revolver with a brown handle. He aimed at everyone and shots were fired, although not from him but from the man with stories sitting next to me. “Run, kid!” he yelled. I was running into the town as fast as I could until I decided to stop and look back. 

The people there still looked like people, but they were startling. Every one of them looked up at me and screeched with a blood-curdling squeal. Their eyes had no life in them. Their dusty, dirty clothes were suddenly ripped and shredded along with their skin. 

My heart started to pound as I ran past the main town into a dark green, moody forest. My adrenaline was lightning in my veins that powered my limbs to run faster than they ever had. The screeches behind me stayed at the same volume and intensity. 

In the trees, there was a flagpole. I stopped right in front of it to dodge its unforgiving smack. There was a man sitting on the flagpole with a flare gun announcing, “This is the end of the world! This is it!” The bright orange flares that were let off in the air distracted me from how he got up there in the first place. My mind kept running after my body, trying to keep up. 

Not even paying attention to how tired I was, I ended up in a clearance of trees. It was almost pitch black under the tall pieces of bark and leaves. The moon was lighting up the grass, making everything look wet. I involuntarily decided to lay down because I was too tired to even stand. 

Footsteps became louder and painful screeches didn’t wait for them. The lump in my throat became larger as all I could begin to think about was my dad. Why did I leave him? I knew how much he missed me. I could feel it in the heavy air. 

The moment felt so slow as I was thinking about the memories I had with Dad. Him taking me to go golfing with him. Teaching me how to fish. I missed him so much. I should never have left. He’s probably one of those screeching monsters on my tail now. 

I closed my eyes and listened to the footsteps and screeches drown out my thoughts. I was screaming and crying at this point, sounding just like the creatures that surrounded me. Every problem I ever had couldn’t be contained by my father’s hugs. I was hopeless, closing my eyes getting ready to feel the wrath of whatever runs behind me.

*kudunk!* I hear. *kudunk!* My eyes shot open. The familiar sound of the wheels against the road made me realise where I was. “Stop!” I yelled in a frenzy, erect in my seat. The breaks made a large screeching noise, similar to the ones I had just heard. Everyone grunted when the bus lost its momentum. I ran off hurriedly through the perfectly shiny glass doors to the sidewalk.

I could barely contain myself when I saw my dad on the phone a good ways away from me. It felt like hours I was running. I was so exhausted but I couldn’t stop. “Dad!” I yelled, my voice dry and cracking. He looked over excitedly and to my surprise he started to run toward me. I had never seen my dad run so fast. 

We finally met up again and he awarded me with one of his best hugs, only this time he had one of his hands on my blonde head. I started to cry and enjoy the moment that I thought I had lost forever. I could hear my mom in my dad’s hand as he hugged me, asking him, “What’s going on?” with a shaky, energetic voice. 

The sun was going down as we took a slow stroll home. I was telling him what had happened on the bus and why I decided to run back. Now it was just explaining why I got on the bus in the first place.