The Vanishing The Abyss Beckons: A Bus Driver’s Descent into Nightmarish Despair Ah, the thrill of the mundane shattered by the grotesque—how deliciously poetic. Let me regale you with an account so steeped in dread that it’ll leave your spine tingling and your sanity waver. Picture this: a dreary morning, the kind where the air feels thick with portentous dread. I, your humble narrator and bus driver, was about to have my routine shattered by a darkness so profound it could only be born from a nightmarish reverie. There I was, steering my bus towards the stop, expecting the usual smattering of passengers. But no, today was different. The stop, usually home to a few hapless souls, had become a writhing mass of humanity. Teenagers with backpacks, women struggling under the weight of their consumerist sins, and businessmen tapping their watches with frantic zeal, as if their impatience might bend time to their will. I braced myself, ready for the usual dance of bodies and bitter sighs. B...
Your city, your journey, our drive.