Tom yawns and he sets the last button on his jammies. He stretches and climbs aboard the Sleepytime Express, ready for a good night’s trip through Slumbertown.
“Good evening, sir,” the driver says. “Usual stop? 4:30 AM?”
“Not this time, Joe! It’s Saturday! I’ll be going straight on through town,” Tom says with a sleepy smile. He sits down on the second bench seat right next to his wife, who’s already on board. “Just drop me off wherever. 8:30 would be okay. 9:00 would be even better.”
“Okay, sir!” The driver pulls the doors closed, releases the brake and carefully steers the Sleepytime Express out onto Drowsy avenue.
“Boy am I bushed,” Tom says as he nestles into the seat for the night-long trip.
The bus drives on through the night. The lights of dreamland flash by as Tom sits back and enjoys the journey. He recalls previous trips throughout the week, ones in which he was forced to get off at his 4:30 or 5:30 AM stops, feeling entirely unrested. This non-stop trip through town would be a welcome change.
“Wow, I might make it through this time,” Tom thinks as the bus passes a sign for 4:15.
CRASH!
Out of nowhere, a brick wall named Michael appears in the middle of the road, taking the Sleepytime Express driver entirely unawares as the bus and all of its passengers smash into it at full speed.
With tinkling glass still flying and the smell of charred rubber heavy in the air, Tom and his wife lay sprawled on the road, blinking and jarred, next to a mile marker that reads “4:24″
The wall transforms into a six-year-old boy.
“Mommy? I’m all sweaty!” Michael cries as his mom and I reluctantly haul ourselves out of bed and into active service.
It had been such a nice trip. Maybe tonight we’ll make it through.
In all fairness, it was sister S’s alarm clock that woke him up. I have yet to understand why she’d have it set to go off then. But there’s precedent, so it doesn’t surprise me much.
I’m so sorry that you were so rudely awakened, but this was a great post.
Sigh, teenagers.
(MD) Naturally, said teenager was conveniently sleeping at a friend’s house last night, so she herself was not disturbed. Until her mom sent her a few angry text messages.
Wow, that sounded like a great story, I had pictures in my head, always a good sign.
Perhaps you can dismantle that alarm clock or send the perpetrator to deal with the small wall herself.
I think you should write a kid’s book and I will illustrate it. but we have discussed that before, remember the Daddy’s hairstyle book?
You’ve got it in you and I am NOT getting any younger.
(MD) Perpetrator was at a friend’s house for the night, so she wasn’t subjected to the onslaught. Said alarm clock has been removed from its position. Roughly.
Very creative. I’m impressed that you could write this while in your sleep deprived state!
(MD) Some of my best stuff comes to me while I’m half awake. Of course, some of the most bizarre stuff comes to me while I’m half awake too, so…
This is a very vivid story. Part of me wants to pat you on the back for the wonderful way you wrote it and the other part of me wants to extend sympathy to you for being so rudely awakened.
Did you ever find out why the teen set her alarm so early? Did Michael blame Sister S for waking him up? Did you put a moratorium on alarm clocks set for ungodly hours on the weekend? I probably would have thrown it out the window being the morning person that I am.
(MD) I never did find out what the point was of the early Saturday alarm. Teenage girls are not only incomprehensible, they’re often unintelligible as well.
We did find out later that sister S set her alarm early so she could get used to waking early for when school starts. She just didn’t think ahead to the weekend and that she was spending the night at a friend’s house. I did send her text messages early in the morning.
(MD) One day she’ll come home to find that confounded alarm clock impaled on a pike next to her bed. That should get the message across.
That is exactly what it feels like, crashing into a wall going about 150 mph. Well said.
(MD) The crash is bad enough… what’s worse is the road rash that you get after bouncing along the proverbial asphalt that really gets you; the effect of “wha? wha? where am I?” that lingers until you are truly awake.