|The Story||The Authors|
|The bus skidded on it's side, crashed into a telephone pole and burst into flames. Tiki, Bitzy and Vashondra, all of whom had been thrown from the bus, escaped unharmed. Meredith was roasted to a crisp and no longer had to worry about being late for work. Poor Mr. Tickles on the other hand would never get his dinner.|
|Meanwhile,the onlookers stood transfixed by the buses slowly spinning wheels--like rubber doughnuts in a cosmic Dunkin' Donuts shop they spun. Bitzy said to Tiki, "I knew I should have taken the #44!"|
|Poor Meredith. She was always trying to challenge herself to try new things and not be afraid by what she didn't know. But driving a bus was her undoing. Little did Vashondra know that her and Meredith were actually distant cousins.|
|It wouldn't be long before Meredith's coworkers reported Meredith's uncharacteristic absence and figured out the pieces of this senseless tragedy. Suzy from the flower shop would stop by and look after Mr. Tickles until news of Meredith arrived to crush them in mourning. Of course, Suzy was a bit of a looky lew and couldn't resist looking through Meredith's things while she was alone in Meredith's flat with no one but Mr. Tickles looking on. Once she heard of Meredith's death however she would feel terribly guilty at the violation that had no victim except her own conscience.|
|Meanwhile while the emergency crews attended to the injured and to the lone victim, Vashondra whipped up a demon vat of her legendary martinis which Bitsy and Tiki provided to all of those in need. The tranquil trio was back together again, the world would be a better place for stuffed animals and formica. However, first there would have to be a book deal.|
|"We've got a pulse!" cried the emergency technician. The burn unit was just arriving. Meredith had been extracted from the smoking charred remains of the bus and was being placed on a stretcher. Vashondra, in one of those quiet moments that visited her all too rarely, looked over from her portable shaker and vat of olives and thought, "ok, like, why did she throw me out of the seat if she didn't, like, know how to drive the bus herself? I'm sure."|
|At that moment a she lost her mind and melted like the Wicked Witch of the West.|
Slumping to the ground, she recalled the Cabeza de Vaca's immortal words of 1542:|
A few days after these four Christians had left, the weather became so cold and tempestuous that the Indians could no longer pull roots, and the canebrake in which they used to fish yielded nothing more. As the lodges afforded so little shelter, people began to die, and five Christians, quartered on the coast, were driven to such an extremity that they ate each other up until but one remained, who being left alone, there was nobody to eat him. Their names are: Sierra, Diego, Lopez, Corral, Palacios and Gonzalo Ruiz. At this the Indians were so startled, and there was such an uproar among them, that I verily believe if they had seen this at the beginning they would have killed them, and we all would have been in great danger.
After a very short time, out of eighty men who had come there in our two parties only fifteen remained alive.
Then the natives fell sick from the stomach, so that one-half of them died also, and they, believing we had killed them, and holding it to be certain, they agreed among themselves to kill those of us who survived. But when they came to execute it an Indian who kept me told them not to believe we were the cause of their dying, for if we had so much power we would not have suffered so many of our own people to perish without being able to remedy it ourselves. He also told them there remained but very few of us, and none of them did any harm or injury, so that the best was to let us alone. It pleased Our Lord they should listen to his advice and counsel and give up their idea.
The irony of it all was the last coherent thought she would experience for twenty years. By that time, the World would be a very different place, and any vestigial need for coherent thought it yet possessed wwas certain to be handled by the Bureau of Coherent Thought.