Dance of the Dead

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Josh wore an army jacket and bathed in his camouflage. The swirls of brown, green and yellow knotted into each other, tittering off at abrupt angles. He sat right at the front of the bus, trying to get as far away as possible from the loud, cocky kids shouting towards the back. Headphones let out the murmured buzz of a podcast and the glow of his phone lit up his expression; thoughtful and concerned. The interview didn't go well again, going to have to let them know.

He held his home-made phone case, made out of purple foam with little Pacman characters, and swiped between shows before finally settling on a show about how good habits might turn your life around. He laughed about the trivial little habits: how they seemed so easy to grasp but just out of reach, thinking back to his unbreakable nicotine addiction.

Hands folding a purple hair band, he didn't know how to break the news to his sister. Mum, I can handle but Rose is a different story. His younger sister Rose had always looked up to him and now he had to tell them both he couldn't get a job, couldn't help either of them.He flicked back to his podcast and wished the days would just speed up, although, he considered that if time did speed up he'd just be back at college in no time. Tomorrow was a Psychology trip and he hadn't done any research on the topic of death, mourning and grief. He supposed he'd get away with it, given all his first hand experience.

Long blonde hair cascaded out from under his headphones, creating banks around his ears. The blonde faded towards the top of his head where the long winter had taken its toll. He breathed out a long sigh and turned towards the bus window pane, speckled with new drops of drizzle. Sometimes it felt like life was just like this bus journey: you got to the end of the route and realised there was no onwards, just circling back round on yourself all over again.

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