Samantha was in tears. Again. On the school bus ride home. Boys and girls were being mean to her. They kicked her shins as they walked past where she sat. They threw pencils, spitballs, even small rocks. “We should just kill all your kind, and solve the problem!”
The bus driver cheered them on. “You tell that thing! Give it what for!”
When the bus got to Samantha’s stop, they blocked her in, and half the bus got off. Samantha was terrified. She knew they were going to hurt her. Beat her up.
That’s when she heard a voice, though no one was there. “Just sit here for a moment. It’ll be OK.”
Something invisible struck the bus driver. Hard. Samantha heard bones break. The driver pitched face first into the steering wheel. “Grow up, little boy,” that voice spoke a second time.
The doors to the bus became mangled, and bent, the glass in them exploded, and the doors would never work again. There was a noise. A gunshot. Someone had a gun. It fired several times. The kids outside the bus panicked, and ran in all directions, terrified. “Someone has a gun!”
“You can get up now, Samantha. It’s safe to walk home.”
Samantha slowly stood up. “Whoever you are. I hope you know. The sheriff. You’ve got him worried.”
I laughed. “I’m counting on that.”
Samantha walked home, with the sound of sirens getting louder.
She knew very soon, hell would ride into town.