Another Story in response to last weekend’s prompt….

Choices   (pt.1 by somedayi.net)

The air inside the Greyhound bus was thick with the smell of urine, garlic, and baby powder.  Immediately, Jessy wished he had chosen a different one.  He just didn’t have time.  Thugs were hot on his heels and the quick decision probably saved his life.

The driver told him the bus was headed for Enid.  Where ever the hell that is, it’s gotta be a long way from the Atlantic City boardwalk.  Jessy had promised himself a thousand times, “Someday, I will find a safe place and stop running… some place I can start a new life”.  Maybe Enid would be that place.  He had begun to think that this bus could have been a good choice after all.

But, that was 11 hours ago.  The two black sedans that forced the bus off the road came to a stop.  Jessy’s stomach turned at the sight of well-tailored men stepping out of the cars.  It couldn’t be Lansky’s guys!  There was no way they knew which bus he boarded.  Cops?  Just as bad.  Cops, gangsters, it’s hard to tell the difference these days.

Jessy nervously glanced toward the duffle bag at his feet, slightly nudging it under the seat.  The knot in his stomach grew.  His hands began to sweat.  The group of men neared the bus door, reaching inside their coats as they approached.

 (to be continued… by the next storyteller)

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2 responses to “Another Story in response to last weekend’s prompt….

  1. Thank you fellow storyteller for your contribution for the writing prompt. Can’t wait to find out who Lansky’s guys are and what they want! Keep Writing- TRR

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  2. Choices, pt.2

    Jessy slowly wakes. He feels like he’s been hit by a bus. His headache pounds relentlessly, his mind spins, his ears ring with a deafening high-pitched squeal. Jessy sees nothing. But he can hear groaning and the moans of someone near him. “Am I in hell?”, Jessy thinks. The air is dank and musty. Water drips quietly somewhere in the room. A room! Yes – it must be. There is an emptiness and soft echo, definitely not outdoors. It’s probably not hell, then. Softly, to himself in relief, “I’m alive…” That’s good. Or… maybe it’s not.

    Suddenly, a heavy metal sound comes from some distance to his right. It’s a large door opening. A narrow shaft of light slices the blackness as it opens part way. The silhouettes of two men appear and the fedoras give them away as part of the crew that forced the bus off the road. Jessy begins remembering bits of things, flashes of memory. The bus, a scattered dozen or so passengers, two cars, men viciously boarding the bus, the butt of a gun crashing into his head.

    There is violent scuffling in the darkness from across the room. A woman screams, pleading for help as one of the men drags her toward the door. She thrashes and kicks, desperately trying to free herself from the man’s grip. Her strength wears out and Jessy feels too weak to move. No one comes to her rescue as she is dragged through the door way. Jessy can hear the cries and moans of despair from others in the room. The heavy metal door grinds loudly as it closes. And he is again immersed in total blackness. Only now, the fear that cloaked the room before has a new partner. Panic!

    (to be continued)

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