bus stop

(set: $mantis to (text-style: "blur")) The bus stop is flanked on all sides by unending darkness. The only other life-form for miles around, as far as you can tell, is a $mantis[large mantis], occupying the entire bench across the street. You swear you could see the moon and stars just a few hours ago. Now, the sky is the same pitch black as the featureless ground. You feel no wind; no air resists when you wave your arm. [[Try to tell how far the darkness goes]] [[Check your cell phone]]

You squint all of your eyes as you try to follow the smooth paving of the road. It seems to fade out when it reaches the [[horizon]], but you can't tell exactly when that is. $mantis[The sky is the earth.]

You look at the digital clock. It hasn't changed since you [[arrived.]] (text-style: "blur")+(transition: "dissolve")[18:72] You have a single message from [[Gil.]]

You smell a hint of fresh jasmine. Separating from the horizon like paint from an old wall, a (transition: "dissolve")[dark figure] [[approaches the bus stop.]]

When did you get here, anyway? You think. It was dark. You have your ticket; you know why you're here, where you're going. But, you suddenly realize you can't place yourself in time or space. $mantis[You have left the jurisdiction of all dimensions familiar to you.]

(font: "Courier New")+(transition: "dissolve")[if all goes as planned, i'll be at the bus stop in the next half hour] You can almost see his soft form melting out of the $mantis[darkness.] ...You wonder if you should change his contact name in your phone from "Odrillvie."

His hesitant voice and wave reach you from several meters away. "$name! Sorry to make you wait." Gil jogs to the bus stop, his mass of hair bouncing behind him. He takes up the remaining space on the bench. The air feels warm. (text-style: "blurrier")[[Ask about the mantis]] [["What was holding you up?"]]

(set: $name to (prompt: "What do you prefer to be called?", "")) [[Begin]]

"Do you see the mantis on that bench? $mantis[I don't remember when they got here.]" Gil leans forward. "I... can just barely make them out." Their antennae twitch. They're draped across the bench in a leisurely position--body spread out, with one spindly leg laid over the other. They have no [[ticket.]]

"Amelia needed me to proofread four of her reports at the last minute. They were heavy. I'm glad I'm not in her department," Gil says. You ask, "Do you wish your hours were shorter?" "Sometimes." Gil begins to twirl a piece of his hair. [[Hold his hand]] [[Bring up your own concerns]]

You glance at your ticket. Your destination name and time of boarding look fuzzy, but "$name" is as clear as ever. You wanted to take Gil to the botanical garden. He told you to wait for the weekend. Now, on what you think is a Friday evening, you have the chance. Every time you want to make plans with your friends, you feel a little twinge of shame about your unemployment. You know there's no reason to be ashamed, but you wish you could ask them to spend more time with you--despite their comparatively busy schedules--without feeling inconsiderate.

You reach across Gil's lap and take his right hand in yours. He looks down quickly as you touch him. "Oh." He's very warm. His uncanny heat radiates through your body, beginning with the palms of your hands and ending somewhere near your molten core. [[Lean on his shoulder gently]] [[Discuss plans]]

"Gil, why is it so dark? Do you know what time it even is?" He pauses to think. "No... No, I don't." "When I got here, I expected you'd be here in the next thirty minutes. Now, I don't even remember when I got here." You catch an idiosyncratic sign of concern on his face: a quick, elusive eyebrow twitch. Then, you notice the [[legs.]]

Even with one part of you already leaching away Gil's heat, it's not enough. You push yourself closer to him. "Can I lean my head on you?" you ask. "Sure," he replies. He seems a bit puzzled. You rest your head on his shoulder. It's incredibly warm. Not hot, not feverish. It's the most extreme middle-ground temperature you've ever experienced. You wonder if this is even possible.

"When we get to the botanical garden, what do you want to see first?" you ask, squeezing Gil's hand. "I haven't stopped thinking about the tendrils since the last time we were there. I need to see the tendrils again." You see the tendrils in your mind. Long, fuzzy interlopers. It's hard to forget the tendrils. They certainly do leave their $mantis[mark] on you.

Long, spindly devices of locomotion. Dragging a body the size of a traincar, two of them peel from the darkness, making Gil's arrival seem insignificant. Their head is an inverse delta; a plate for two compound eyes like ten-thousand-faceted gemstones. The antennae above them are perfectly still. The creature moves soundlessly. "Looks like the bus is pulling in. Finally," sighs Gil. He plants his dangling feet on the ground and slides off the bench. It feels $mantis[simulated.] It feels surreal. How does it not shake the ground? How does it not render you helpless prey? Where is the choking smell of hemolymph? The bench across the street is gone. The $mantis[dark mercy] of the [[mantis]] has come upon you and Gil.

The plates of the creature's solid body slide into new place, forming a closed door and opening windows into a space uncannily empty. The door removes itself. What an unremarkable bus interior: you see a chair and controls for the driver, seats for passengers, standing rails, emergency breaks--all green and chitinous. Gil squeezes your hand. "Do you have your ticket?" "I do," you say. "And I assume you have yours?" Gil nods. $mantis[You step inside.]