Sunday, Jan. 23, 2005 - 18:43

Hello gentle Reader.

I was on a school bus with a bunch of children, they would’ve been around 7 or 8 years old. It was a big old yellow bus, like you see in American TV shows or in movies (we certainly don’t have buses that daggy).

The bus driver was a thin African American, in his mid-40’s, I’d say. He had some scars on his face… small pockmarks around his cheekbones and along the jaw-line.

There was another adult on the bus. Another man, he, too, was in his 40’s. But curiously, I find it difficult to recall his features; he was Anglo-Saxon, overweight, balding, I think, or had a receding hairline. He wore a black fedora hat and a black trench coat. I saw him sitting 3 or 4 rows behind me. A little girl, possibly Hispanic, was sitting on his knee.

There was something altogether unwholesome about this man and how he was holding the little girl. The look in her eyes said she was afraid. The look in his eyes said he was… perverted.

I went up to the bus driver and told him what was going on; that essentially there was a dirty old man on board. The bus driver got very upset at me! He was like: “Look, I’m driving! I’m trying to concentrate, ok? I haven’t got time for this shit! What do you expect me to do about it anyway?”

Stunned by his outburst, I sat back in my seat, not knowing what to do or what to say.

But then he stops the bus very suddenly. He gets up from the driver’s seat and makes his way down the bus. At first, I thought he was going to grab the Old Pervert and throw him off. But no, he went to an emergency First Aid kit that was bolted too the interior of the bus, near the back. He opens it and removes a handgun.

He comes back down the length of the bus, stops at the Old Pervert and forces him up out of the seat. Then the driver and the Old Pervert get off the bus and stand by the windows, yelling at one another, just level with where I was sitting.

The driver shoots the Old Pervert in the head and blood and brain and bone spatter the window. The kids scream in horror and shock. I watch in sick fascination as the driver then brings the barrel of the gun up to the side of his head, at his temple. I yell at all the kids not already hiding and squatting below their seats to get down – I don’t want them to see this.

I duck down, too… and then there’s the sound of a gun shot…. At which point, I then woke up.

Weird dream… though happily, it was another Simon-Free one, and that can only be a good thing. Now, if we could just stop all the blood and gore, sleep might not be such a daunting prospect...

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