By An Anonymous Writer|Lindenlink Contributor
*This diary was found in the Butler library. If this is your writing, please contact us at [email protected]*
“The silence of the night is broken only by the strident sound of approaching cars. Tires on asphalt. The smell of scorching rubber fills the nostrils of the few, unaware, bystanders. The once empty parking lot is slowly filled by passing vehicles that drop off one baggage bearing figure at the time. A few embarrassed “farewells” later, loud, excited chatter engulfs the stand, waking the innocent families that are trying to enjoy the warmth of their covers in the surrounding apartments. A flock of teenagers gathers, male and female alike, hiding the horizon with their mastodontic travel bags.
“As I delight myself in observing a sea of eighteen year olds regressing to infants, a hard blow strikes the back of my neck. Punishment for daydreaming. I turn around just in time to avoid being hit for a second time; the assailant, one of my dear friends, almost loses his grip on his blunt object, astonished by my ability to avoid his second attack. Great way to start a trip; a classmate tries to knock you out with a 1000 ml bottle of coffee liqueur* (pic included) just because you weren’t handing him over a stack of paper cups. I stand up and start distributing the cheap goblets that are in no time filled and raised to the starless sky in a toast to the upcoming journey, an exhausting 21 hour bus ride to reach final destination: Prague. One prolonged sip. The dark liquid flows from its container to the throat, tingling my taste buds, waking me up.
“When our carrier comes to a complete stop on the opposite side of the street, havoc spreads through the crowd. Everyman for himself. The thundering roar of a thousand feet running towards the bus’ open doors. I strap my backpack on my shoulders and head towards the enormous vehicle illuminated by the only working street lamp in the entire area. My friends run ahead but I follow them slowly hoping that one of them will save me a seat in the back row, far away from suspicious looks. I see one of them throw away the empty carcass of our last drink; but as he climbs the bus’ stairs I hear the unmistakable sound of glass bottles bumping against each other. I sink my head in my hands.
“I am fortunate enough to find a comfortable spot next to a window, I catch a last glimpse of (erased name of city) and I plug in my earphones: “See you in a week” I whisper to the once again deserted avenue. The engine starts running and all the passengers raise their voices in one, piercing, liberating howl. For at least 45 minutes hymns dedicated to the Czech Republic are sung, vulgarity makes up most of them, and a sense of pure joy pervades the fortress on wheels; once all energy wears out, heads bend down and lights are dimmed to accommodate sleep. I figure I should join the mass shut-eye but a tap on my right shoulder diverts me from my intent. “It’s time” is the only phrase I hear before another cup filled with an unspecified liquid is forced into my grasp. Wrapped in almost complete silence I drink, I watch most of my friends fall into Morpheus’ cuddling embrace, and as we reach our first stop I fell like joining them as well. Naively, I decide to take a breath of fresh air and I climb down the bus. A few steps, I inhale deeply and my sight goes black. I faint.
“When I regain consciousness, I find myself back on the bus surrounded by my friends’ familiar faces. They assure me no one other than them saw me pass out as they pour water on my forehead to wake me up. Good way to start a road trip.”