TUMULTUOUS Chapter I
What's all this magma? Under the neath. Some say continents drift because of the primordial collision with Theia. The Hadean eon: before things cooled, hot vibes -- the neath on top. What's all this magma? The moon has a ghostly charm, wouldn't you say?
A school bell rings for Summer. This is it! No more bummers or old news. Now is the time for eventful sunshine. 10 seconds ago there was silence, or rather an absence of life. Icky lights hummed down the long hallway and a round clock ticked rhythmically from wall to wall: TIK-Tik-tik TOK-Tok-tok. But now the levee of every classroom door bursts with wave after wave of elementary students -- children -- laughing and screaming and skipping and sprinting toward those bright red doors. The outside! The sun!
The doors erupt. They are free.
There is a world of cars all around us. An escalation in weight, metal, and speed. This parking lot is a mock battleground with very real consequences, a slayer match performed by otherwise seemingly docile adults. Weapon: mode of transport. Little ones nearly hit as they run by SUVs with 15 foot blind spots. One mom stuck at the back of the long, long line of cars watches the poor and brown children cross the main road toward the city bus. Cars fly through 35 mph before the kids even finish crossing. The mom wonders where all the school buses are like when she was a kid. She is unaware she voted the man who cut the transportation budget oh, about 10 years ago now. One mom like many, stuck.
One short bus left, mandated by inclusion laws. Meet Mitch, the boy on arm crutches, moving slowly from those bright red doors to his bus. Last year's driver was a mean old lady; this year, a pudgy middle aged man always cracking jokes, always saying "Whatcha doin still on my bus? Beat it, kid, scram!" And Mitch always laughs and the driver is aware and grateful to have a purpose. But now it's the last day and who knows'll drive next year. One slow step at a time, Mitch...
ZOOM! Jimmy runs past Mitch. Skrrrt! Mary, Jimmy's mom, pulls past the long, long line, around the short bus, and next to a fire hydrant in her Model Y Tesla. Mitch may be a year older and smarter than Jimmy, but Jimmy put his cargo shorts and Spiderman shirt on by himself and well, who cars about smart stuff? Mary taps a button to open the door for her son, Jimmy hops in, then she taps a bunch of other buttons while calling her daughter who she will promptly yell at for no worthwhile reason. Mitch is halfway to the bus. Driver shakes his head.
Time flows. 6th grade parents quietly celebrate never needing to return to this dreadful urban heat island. No one is aware anyone will ever return to this smoothly paved piece of publicly funded land which so easily carries the weight of their A/C pumping automobiles. 45 hectic minutes pass and now the lot is empty. Every way is Pompeii.