She stood on the platform, watching bus #9 approach. A ticket to Florida was in her hand, crinkled and growing damp in her death grip. A similarly sweat-stained paper lay on the kitchen table at home, her incoherent reasons for why she was doing this scratched across the page for her husband to find. She took her cellphone out of her purse to check the time. He would be home soon. She watched as the bus stopped in front of her, air brakes releasing in a whoosh of air. The door swung open. She hesitated…then stepped inside.
~ The End ~
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