She is sat on a bus, alone.
She has been alone allot recently, had too much time to think.
Sometimes when she is alone she doesn’t feel real. She feels like a dream, not existing in the real world. She is the abstract figment of some random persons imagination and any second now they will wake up and everything, her whole existence will disappear.
She knows this is a stupid thought. She can see her reflection in the glass of the window.
Her face, hands, body. Accept right now it feels less like her body and more like a container for her consciousness. A capsule she is loosing control of.
She was meant to get off 3 stops ago, But her legs didn’t budge. Her hands hadn’t lifted to press the button and the bus hadn’t stopped.
She is thinking she could just ride the bus to the end. To somewhere new, maybe somewhere new will feel more real then somewhere old.
Something fresh might remind her how to take control of her limbs again. Eventually she might get so scared of getting lost she will stand up, press the button, get off the bus and run all the way home.
But she could just continue sitting. Until the bus gets to is last stop, and when she asked to leave her automated body might just carry her far enough to a quiet place where she can cry.
Tears can be purifying. Maybe purity is what she needs to feel real again.