Pick the Fiction

The topic is old and hackneyed. But I sometimes relish my bus ride into work. It gives me a chance to zone out for a bit, think some things through and maybe even plot out some things going on in my life.

However, this morning I was privy to being approached on the bus by a “Chatter”.

The Chatter is a parasitic creature. It spies you from afar, can tell that you’re irritable from not having your morning brew, and then pounces upon you with the gusto of a cheetah hauling down a wildebeest, feasting upon your irritability, and forced politeness.

“How are you?” it quipped.

I turn my head slowly towards them, slowly lowering my sunglasses to reveal the biggest and best “do I look like a fucking people person?” stare I can muster. I even do a slight twitch of the eye to suggest that I could crack at any minute.

They stare back unflinchingly, their grin almost splitting the top of their head off. I could swear I could see some drool dripping down the side of their chin, such was their deliriously happy visage.

“Fine” I coughed out.

Bad move. This signaled the green flag in front of a green-hating bull.

“Oh that’s good, the weather has been wonderful lately, and I had a lovely walk…”

I faze out, the rest of the sentence becoming vague drawl not dissimilar to how the teachers talk in “Peanuts” cartoons. I feel my eyes slowly leaning back out the window.

“… and you shoulda seen it!” they finished as they bump their shoulder into mine, yanking me out of my haze.

“Mmmmhmmm…” buzzes out my closed mouth. I crack my apathy with the fakest of polite smiles, and I exhale audibly out my nose in an exasperated and exaggerated sigh.

It appears that interpreting subtlety isn’t one of their finer points. They continue on chatting about some inane event that obviously is of import to them. I can’t remember what it was; such was my intense interest in the passing bitumen under the bus.

They laugh at the anecdote that just spilled past their lips, and they pat me on the shoulder lightly.

Right then some ninjas rappel down into the bus, unsheathing their katanas in an aggressive manner. They shout out words in Japanese, with the only words I recognize are “Chatter”, “Removal” and “Squad”.

Their eyes scan up and down the aisles, and all passengers sit bolt upright. The Chatter next to me carries on oblivious to the assassins nearby, a loud and annoying laugh escaping their throat periodically.

One ninja focuses on the Chatter. His eyes narrow. All the other ninjas turn to see what he has spotted.

There is a blur of motion. All the people on the bus scream and duck their heads, shielding themselves with their hands. Sunlight glints of the metal blades as they spin and twirl menacingly.

Then the ninjas are gone. The deafening noise of silence permeates the atmosphere. The Chatter that was next to me is no longer there, with only a small pile of shredded material the single indication that they’d ever existed.

The bus continues to roll on, and I turn my attention to the window, relieved to be simply left to watch what is passing by.

I made a part of that story up. Can you guess which one?

Needless to say, I am extremely irritated. Yes, people are simply being friendly, but it doesn’t mean that I want to be fucking friendly back. Thank you, Chatter, for robbing me of one of the single moments of the day that doesn’t bombard my senses with annoying crap.