The bus route by the burnt down factory is still in use.
I don't know why this surprised me or why I felt the need to take the bus there but I had to go back once more.
Just in case someone was waiting as the bus stop like they all used to.
A part of me hoped I'd somehow get there and see the old workers lined up and ready to go home. A part of me hoped I'd see my dad waiting with his friends, joking around and discussing what to do for dinner while I waved out the window as the bus drew close enough for him to spot me and wave back.
They never did find out what caused that fire or why none of the workers managed to escape when the front doors were wide open. When the flames finally died down their bodies were still at their work stations, arms and legs poised like they'd still been working even as they burnt to death.
I once overheard my dad talking to his friends on one of their poker nights when I was assumed to be asleep. They spoke about The Foreman in such a fearful way that you could hear the capitalisation in their hushed tones and almost picture the barely concealed terror on their faces when they described his latest floor route.
They soon corrected themselves from He to It and It had eyes like molten iron with lungs that belched out thick smog with every breath, stinging and burning with every lecture he hurled at whoever was unlucky enough to be in his path.
Somehow The Foreman was behind this, I knew it like I knew going back would solve everything.
Like going back would bring them all back one more time.
Like the bus will round that last corner and they'll all be there, waiting to come home.
I don't know why this surprised me or why I felt the need to take the bus there but I had to go back once more.
Just in case someone was waiting as the bus stop like they all used to.
A part of me hoped I'd somehow get there and see the old workers lined up and ready to go home. A part of me hoped I'd see my dad waiting with his friends, joking around and discussing what to do for dinner while I waved out the window as the bus drew close enough for him to spot me and wave back.
They never did find out what caused that fire or why none of the workers managed to escape when the front doors were wide open. When the flames finally died down their bodies were still at their work stations, arms and legs poised like they'd still been working even as they burnt to death.
I once overheard my dad talking to his friends on one of their poker nights when I was assumed to be asleep. They spoke about The Foreman in such a fearful way that you could hear the capitalisation in their hushed tones and almost picture the barely concealed terror on their faces when they described his latest floor route.
They soon corrected themselves from He to It and It had eyes like molten iron with lungs that belched out thick smog with every breath, stinging and burning with every lecture he hurled at whoever was unlucky enough to be in his path.
Somehow The Foreman was behind this, I knew it like I knew going back would solve everything.
Like going back would bring them all back one more time.
Like the bus will round that last corner and they'll all be there, waiting to come home.
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