My Bus Driver Thinks He's A Medieval Knight
Hazel Pearson
He loyally and valiantly defends the honor of the transit system, steering his noble steed and carting a carriage of tittering passengers behind him. A young maiden mounts the vehicle, smiling as she flashes her plastic bus card. She scans it.
Insufficient funds.
He watches as the maiden, so fair before, turns into the most fell of beasts. Her nose elongates and transforms to a scaly snout, her fingers curling with claws. He can barely understand her next grating taunt through the reptilian voicebox.
“Can I get on?”
The dragon starts to cackle, and he shields his ears, realizing that she’s aiming for his carriage full of wealthy lairds. Clearly, the beast expects him to wave her through. But it won’t be that easy.
“You need money to get on this bus.”
The dragon roars, her gums withdrawing sickeningly to reveal sharp white fangs. Her fire is blocked by his shield. He put it up just in time.
“I know,” he hears the dragon say. “I forgot my card today.”
“This isn’t a school bus,” he says, eyes trained on the dragon, who starts to look downwards, shame in her eyes. The most powerful of magical forces, embarrassment shrinks her, and suddenly it’s only a little beast standing in front of him. The flame wouldn’t be strong enough to light a candle.
“You can go through this time, but don’t expect this type of lenience in the future.”
The dragon slinks towards the back of his bus. Another foe defeated.
Hazel Pearson