Far off to her right, she could see the bus approaching just as slow as the Georgia sun now coming up over the horizon. It promised to be another scorching summer day in Edge Hill. Sadie sighed with relief. How long have I been standing here on the side of this two lane country road I have known my whole life, she reflected. So long she had speculated if the dilapidated sign next to her marking the stop would be better relocated in a museum. When was the last time anyone got on the bus here? She was most certain they never got off. This was the only stop that came near town as the bus traveled between Augusta and Macon and she imagined it was reluctant to do so. No one came to Edge Hill anymore. Maybe the route had been changed and no one had bothered to come and swap out the tattered paper schedule on the post, she had worried. What would she do then? Sadie gripped the straps on her duffle bag tighter. Soon. Her moment of no return was arriving, her escape was near.
I mean, most people want to escape. Get out of their heads. Out of their lives. Stories are the easiest way to do that.Victoria Schwab
This post was written for Stream of Consciousness Saturday. “Your post must be stream of consciousness writing, meaning no editing (typos can be fixed), and minimal planning on what you’re going to write.”