Stepping out of the bus, the girl saw a caravan of black bulky vehicles speeding down the street. Sirens and blue lights twinkled in alarm.
How odd, she thought, it’s always so quiet here. She lived in a (boring) neighbourhood; homeowners were typically confined to their walls and lawns and backyards. Dismissively, she put her headphones back on and turned up the volume of Gwen Stefani’s “Rich Girl.”
She was comfortable when the beats were loud, and her mind was muted. She swayed her hips a little with every step as if she were walking on the runway and pictured what it would be like to have heads turn upon her arrival.
She looked up from her phone and saw nothing.
The cluster of cars was gone, taking their blue flashing lights with them. Stepping down from the curb, the street she lived in looked as if the houses were never there. Reaching down to pause her music, she stopped, shaken and in silence. The road was now unpaved, and her step cracked in the rocky dust.
She gulped and looked up to find an old lady carrying a basket. “Turn around, sweetie,” she said calmly, “there’s a man with a gun.”