(This project is based on one of my favorite experiences in a written paragraph that I eventually turned into a SWAY presentation.)

I walk across the busy road trying not to get splashed by the spray the cars that go by fast give out as they speed through puddles. I make it to the dark grey concrete, almost black from the storm. My shoes are so filled with water, they’re squeaking see the blue beaten-looking bus turn the corner of the street I go to school on, it’s structure creaking from all ends. I take out my vibrant coloured compass card, the varnish chipped from the amount of times I’ve dropped it on the gravel path down the street from my house. I can feel the rough textured plastic on my fingertips. As I breathe in the cold air, I can taste the dampened sidewalks, wet by the rain fall that poured all day. I step closer towards the bus stop, trying to get close enough that I won’t have to be crowded by the huge group of students eager to get home where it’s warm. The bus begins to squeak as it slows down next to the sidewalk, I step inside, the cold air from the vents sends a shiver down my spine. The drops of rain in my hair drop to my shoulders and make me feel on edge. I sit down and feel the goose bumps slowly grow to my arms and my hair stands up. I look around and see the dusty mud prints left from earlier in the day lined up going up the steps up to the top layer of the bus. I follow them and look up, everyone dripping rain water and hugging their damp backpacks. I take out my science notes knowing I have 11 more stops before I get home. Home where the air is warm, where my cozy blankets are piled, waiting for me. I have a test next week and need to study. I start reading Biology on the top of the page, I notice the letter B looking more like a P now, the ink bleeding and the paper thin from the drops of rain water. I can see through the dampened page to the title on the next one, Chemistry. I’m so distracted by the thought of my warm room, thinking of the fan I turn on when I get home. The thought gives me shivers. I imagine hot tea gliding down my throat like velvet, warming my stomach. I smile. I keep shifting, uncomfortable in my wet, muddy, polyester seat. I look up at the glowing sign at the front of the bus. The electric blue is magnified by the large drop of water on its front. I ponder on how the sign could have gotten wet. My heart sinks for a second once I realize I’m 3 stops away. I cannot wait to get off this bus. The noise is encompassing the whole vicinity from everyone on the phone complaining to their parents that they wish they had gotten picked up from school. I look out the window, starring at all the stressed out, drenched people on the sidewalks, their coats pulled over their heads creating a puddle of water getting closer and closer to overflowing. I cringe at every step they take stepping into another puddle, soaking their already dampened shoes. I see them miss their buses, too late getting there or the buses don’t even stop just to get home as soon as they can. They get upset and then look as if they may fall apart from the abundance of issues. I notice the cars’ windows having trouble keeping up with the speed of the rain. The clouds look gloomy, ominous, as if it was the end of the world. It makes me sad, I feel tears forming in my tear ducts, confused as to why I may feel this way. I just notice my street ahead managing to pull the chord just before it, causing the bus to come to a sudden stop. I stumble as I stand and start to slip on the wet floor. The bus driver gives me a grunt and glare as I thank him and run out the doors. I rush past people, dogs and strollers, running faster than I’ve ever ran before. I’m almost at my house, I can almost feel the warmth vibrating from the warm-toned lights beaming out the windows. Dogging the cars in the driveway I don’t mind stepping in puddles I know my shoes are full of water already and I might as well enjoy being messy for once. I’m so excited to be home finally I feel a grin start forming. I get up onto my front deck, being extra careful to not slide on the wet wood. Finally reach the door, turn the handle…it’s locked.