The blackness of the night engulfs her like a cloak of the deepest velvet,as she exit's from brightness of the dance club.
She know's that she may have only a few minutes to catch the last bus of the night,but her pace stays,balanced and leisurely
Her high heels click on the damp cement,resounding off the nearby walls,like pennies being tossed into a metal bucket. Her skirt is being picked up by a gentle summer breeze,and caress's her leg's like the soft whisper of a lover's lips.
The minutes pass and still her pace does not quicken. She sweeps her head from side to side,aware of the darkness,the acute loneliness of the street,and yet she has no fear.
Fear is not an emotion she subscribes too.She is not heroic in any sense of that word,just sensible and level headed enough to know that she is much better off on a lighted bus full of people,than walking on a dark street at such a late hour.
In her mind's eye,she can hear the ticking of a clock. The second hand sweeping, urging her to pick up her pace, or miss her bus home.
She hear's the grinding wheels of a large vehicle,the squeak of breaks,the squeal of tires and she begins to run. Arms pumping,heels beating a staccato, her skirt now flies around her legs,whipping her,like some cruel master,leaving red marks on her thighs.
The bus racing towards it's intended stop,bathes the woman in sickly yellow light,as it's headlights pick up her movement down the street.
Then realization strikes.The woman is running too fast, the bus moving at the same speed and they will meet, at exactly the same time.Horror peaks as the front bumper of the large blue bus,hits the woman in the chest and throws her back into the damp night.
She hits the road with a sick thump,her body facing the night sky,and as she sighs,her body filled with pain and her brain receding into shock, she thinks not of friends,nor lovers...but with one simple thought
"at least I haven't missed the last bus home"