Bungee

The bus pulled away after the last of the last batch of passengers had disembarked. The bus driver smiled and waved. It was still sunny out, but the company did not accept any more after a certain time. It would become too dark, it would become too dangerous. They were very rigid and down to the dot with their safety and protocol. There was a man with hair that was starting to show the first signs of aging, a few strands visibly greying. Three young men, exchanging jokes, high fiving one another, generally in an overly excited mood. A young couple that had a lot of palpable tension between them, the boy trying to appease the girl, the girl stoically, even bravely, ignoring him. A woman with greying white hair, retired and seeing everything her beautiful country had to offer. She had worked hard for thirty years, now it was her prime, her time to lay back and relax.

This was possibly the best time of day, the air was cool, the sun was vibrant but not too hot. Wind chuckled all around. Water splashed on the sides of the mountain, gleefully, happily exhausted. The air tasted of fresh water, and of spring, and of life.

The man that beckoned them over to the glass enclosure, led them inside, was jolly. He was thickset, a magnificent mustache that stood to attention by the sides of his face, almost as wide as his entire face. It was perky and held up by enough pomade that kept it still, but not enough that the cream showed. The mustache was well maintained, with specks of red, and shining all the way through. His smile was as wide as his mustache, his cheeks turning red as he smiled, it reached all the way to his eyes, which twinkled with joy. He was jolly, his paunch slight. Legs stocky, a hiker’s build. Wide shoulders. Thick arms.

“Welcome, welcome!” his voice boomed throughout the building. Loud, cheerful. “Hope your trip wasn’t too bumpy, eh?” he introduced himself as the owner. He loved to close up, always took the last batch of visitors, reminded him of his humble roots, he said. He then talked to every person present, their names, their interests, their hobbies, he looked at each with a peering gaze, and made them all feel welcome. He helped them with their gear, worn, and because of that, comforting. As if all the others that had worn it and had survived were a testament to the safety of this adventure.

He led them out to the bridge, sturdy, made of wood, grounded by stone beams. The river underneath was rushing cheerfully, wildly. The man was nervous, the old lady excited. The three ‘dudes’ quiet, the couple had forgotten their fight and were holding hands tightly, warmly. The old two went first, when they didnt come back, he said that his team at the bottom would collect them. The couple went next. They too, disappeared from view. The dudes started to back up a little, he convinced two of them to take the jump. After they had gone, the third wanted out. The man pulled a gun. The third dude rushed him, a shot, a red splash on his chest, some more dots speckling the owner’s mustache, and it was over. He kicked the body off the bridge. The owner cleaned up and locked up his bungee operation, no evidence that this last group had ever come by.