The Bus

He woke with a start, cold sweat running down his forehead. He turned his head and saw that his clock read 2:04 a.m. Jamie felt his heart beating a rapid pace inside. The darkness of the room and the neon green digits that read the time doubled in presence. He felt the glow of the green shine close to him as the clock sat on the surface of his dresser, unmoving and silent, only blinking a different number on the last digit. 2:05 a.m.
Jamie sighed a quiet relief of mystery. It was just a dream. What was the dream? He closed his eyes, the feeling of weariness growing inside him. There was no comfort in the warmth of his blankets; only the cold, empty, and unnerving feeling of something immense that he just couldn’t figure out.
He lay there, keeping still, surrounded by the shadows of his fear, hoping to fall back asleep away from the possibilities of reality.

The sun rose slowly from behind the clouds and mountains. It shone through Jamie’s windows, giving light to the darkness that was. He groaned in annoyance and confusion. The twelve year old boy threw his pillow towards the window in frustration, and squinted as he watched it hit the wall instead.
He slowly got up, taking his time, and muttering words under his breath. He was tired still, and had no luck in falling back to sleep, last night. Whatever he had dreamed about gave him a fright that he couldn’t understand.
After seeing the brightness of the shine of the sun, the fear was long forgotten, replaced with a hunger that needed to be tended to with breakfast.
“Dad,” he said, sitting himself down on the kitchen table.
“Good morning,” was his reply. He was frying eggs and bacon; the usual Friday breakfast. He flipped them over and pressed the spatula on them, making a loud sizzling noise.
Jamie smelled the first aroma of the day, a heavenly waft of food, drifting into his lungs. His stomach made an audible, grumbling noise that brought forth a chuckle from his father. “Hungry, eh?”
His son nodded, sheepishly, running his tongue over his lips as he anticipated and imagined the taste of bacon in his mouth. Jamie’s eyes stared straight at the pan that his father held in one hand as he lifted it over a plate, Jamie’s, and slid an egg and three pieces of bacon on top, along with a slice of toasted bread. “There you go,” said his father, who served the plate on the table in front of his son.
He watched Jamie’s expression turn from hunger to admiration and back to hunger once more.
Jamie tore into the food, swallowing down what he could at a time and gurgling down his glass of orange juice.
“Slow down,” said his father, “Are you okay? You look a little pale?”
Jamie nodded, gulping down the last piece of bacon. “I had a dream last night...” He looked down at his empty plate, staring at the crumbs of the bread he’d consumed.
“And...that’s why you’re so hungry this morning?” His father raised a brow with a smile on the corner of his lips. He shook his head, patting his son’s head and ruffling his hair, going over to the kitchen counter and picking up his hot mug of coffee.