The man in the green sweater, I had decided, was simply not to be trusted. He stood across the street from me, at the opposing bus stop, the one that would take him further into the city, while the stop I waited at would take me further out of it.

On the outside, there was nothing to give you any reason to think the man was a villain. He wore a tweed jacket over a green woollen vest, the strap of his leather satchel slung across his chest. With one hand, he carried a folded newspaper while he used the other to smoke an actual, honest to goodness pipe, the kind you might see sitting in the mouth of Sherlock Holmes. With the small pair of reading glasses sitting upon his nose to top it off, he was a walking cliché of what one might think of a university professor at Oxford or Harvard.

But this man was no professor. In fact, he was the man who would help set about the end of the world.  He was a foreign sleeper agent, one of many that had been placed in the hearts of various cities around the globe. Inside his satchel was a small but powerful device. A bomb, many times stronger than the nuclear ones dropped at the end of World War II. If allowed, he would take the next bus into the city centre, arm the bomb and leave the scene before it would detonate, killing hundreds of thousands of Australians and rendering Brisbane an uninhabitable toxic wasteland.

Not really, of course. Even if he was, how would I know. I’m just a high school student. The man in the green sweater was probably just some guy. Perhaps he was a hipster using the pipe ironically, or maybe he was going to academic themed costume party, or maybe he really was a professor. Point is, it is highly unlikely that the man in the green sweater was an international agent carrying a device with the power to level city blocks.

But wouldn’t that be interesting.

    I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Howard. Howard Brown. I’m 15 years old, I am currently completing 10th grade at a high school in Brisbane City and like most mornings, I stood waiting for the bus that I take to school. To pass the time I did what I normally do, I daydream. I imagine scenarios that will never happen to me in a million years. Because life is generally a mundane ordeal and we all wish we could lead lives of adventure. Or at least I do. I blame television, constantly teasing me with stories of people dragged from the ordinary world into a life of excitement and wonder. I wish.

The rev of an engine shook my train of thought. I looked up, pulling myself out of my own head. My bus had pulled up without me realising, and was now pulling back out onto the street.

Damn.

I tried to hail the driver but it was too late. Even if he could see me he wouldn’t be able to stop the bus without causing a jam for the traffic behind him. And yet if I didn’t get on that bus, then I was going to have to wait thirty minutes for the next one, surely missing the beginning of class. There was only one thing for it. I was going to have to run.

Silently cursing myself for my own stupidity, I pulled the straps of my backpack tighter and set off in a sprint. I wove through pedestrians like a salmon swimming against the stream. With every step, my heavy backpack banged painfully against my tailbone. I risked a glance over my shoulder. The bus was stopped at a red light, but as soon as it turned green it would move on, and the next bus stop was still a good hundred meters away.

I make a split-second decision. I step out into the road and race across to the bus. I doubt the driver would open the door for me but no matter. Racing forward, I leap forward and, using the bonnet of the neighbouring car as a springboard, dive through an open window. I hit the floor of the bus with my shoulder and manage to turn the impact into a cleanly executed roll. As I make it to my feet I survey the looks on the faces of my fellow passengers.  I see shock, of course, and perhaps, admiration? Let it be known Howard Brown knows how to make an entrance.

While I contemplated the logistics of such a feat, I realised I had reached the bus stop. Just in time too, as the traffic lights had changed and the bus was free to continue its journey onward.  Red faced and panting from the sprint, I watched the rectangular metal beast slow to a stop and open its doors wide. I stepped on, ignoring the amused look on the driver’s face, and set about finding a spare seat. I noticed several kids in the same uniform as me but none were from my grade so I sat in the first vacant seat I could find. As the bus pulled back into the street I examined the window next to me. As far as I could see, there was no way to open it.

I settled into my seat and rested my head against the window. The rumble of the engine caused the glass to vibrate and, in turn, my teeth to chatter in my skull. The bus soon pulled up to a new bus stop, opening its doors to welcome the new influx of passengers. Most are adults but the last to get on are a trio of girls about my age. Out of the corner of my eye I watched them board the vehicle. They were dressed in uniforms and funnily enough each had a different hair colour from one another. The girl at the front of the pack had dark brown hair while the other two were a blonde and redhead, respectively. On closer inspection, the blonde’s hair seemed a bit too bright to be entirely natural. I wondered if she had dyed it specifically so they would have a full set?

As they pass, the brunette catches my eye. I smile at her, reflexively, and she smiles back. She motions for her two friends to carry on without her and sits down in the empty seat beside me. Her friends share a look and whisper conspiratorially as they move towards the back of the bus. The brunette continues to smile at me and offers me her hand.

“I’m Emily” she says.

“The names Brown.” I reply, taking her hand in mine and shaking it gently. “Howard Brown”.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mister Brown” she says, her eyes not leaving mine. “I must say, I’m not normally this forward but I know I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I didn’t ask you what you were doing tonight?”

“Tonight?” I say, “Well, tonight I’m taking a beautiful girl out to dinner.”

“Oh?” she says, slightly crestfallen. “She must be special girl”.

“Oh, she sure is.” I lean in slightly. “I’ll pick you up around 8.”

The trio of girls passed by me without a second glance. I turned my gaze back out the window and watch the world fly by.

It doesn’t take long to get to my stop. It’s just up the road from the school entrance. I step off bus, making sure to thank the driver, and carry on my way. A couple of others get off after me and head the same way.  Looking around, I spotted a student on a bicycle across the street. He must be new. The opposing side of the street looks inviting, as it sits in the shade of a row of trees. However, everyone at school knows not to walk beneath them in the spring.

Spring is the season of the magpie.

Sure enough, even as I watched, a black and white avian from hell swooped down from the branches. I watched it fly past the rider’s head, close enough to make him flinch. Usually people would have made the smart decision and crossed to the safe side of the street, but this bloke was either brave or crazy or both. He kept his pace, even as the maggie circled round for another dive. This time it made contact.  From across the street I could hear the thunk it’s beak made against the rider’s helmet. The force of the attack knocked his head sideways for moment but he righted himself quickly and carried on without slowing down. I watched in awe as the bird swooped him again and again and he just carried on like it was nothing.

The magpie lands on a tree branch and watches its opponent with cold, black eyes. This was a formidable foe indeed. The magpie was confused. Normally it would only take a single ‘warning swoop’ to send the humans running in fear. But not this one. This one was different. This one wore an impenetrable helmet upon his head, immune to any attack. This one was a threat.

The magpie leaps from its branch and takes flight. It flies back up into the upper branches of its tree and is lost from sight. To the common observer it would appear that the bird had conceded defeat and retreated. For a moment, all was still. And then, suddenly, a cacophony of sound.

The tree appears to come alive, its branches shaking and thrashing,an awful chorus of squawks and screeches emitting from deep within the canopy. Then, suddenly, they explode forth. A hundred angry magpies burst from within the branches and descend, a black and white cloud of feathers and fear.  

They swarm the poor rider. Like a small tornado, they circle him. Faster and faster they go. There are so many of them, flying so fast that I can barely make out the rider. For a second I glimpse him, calmly pedalling along as if nothing was happening.

Then they take off. Slowly at first, the black ball of avian fury lifts a few inches and I can see the bikes wheels are no longer touching the ground. The birds pick up speed as they carry him into the air. Now he is several meters above ground and rising rapidly. Now he’s level with the roofs of the buildings around him. Now he’s high in the sky, soaring through it like the kid at the end of the E.T. movie. Now he’s just a distant black speck against a blue backdrop. If I reach up with my thumb I can blot him out from sight.

And now he is gone. I don’t know where the magpies have taken him. Perhaps back to their queen. I can imagine them settling the rider down at the feet of an enormous magpie, the size of an elephant. I can…

I was shaken from my thoughts by the clanging of the school bell. I looked around. The rider was gone, as was the magpie and everyone else. I groan, loudly. Once again my absent-mindedness was going to cause me to do something I truly hated. Once again, I would have to run. I took off in a sprint. If I was late to my English class again, then Mrs Morsley was going to crack a gasket. I would almost certainly be given a detention and maybe even a call home.

With no other choice, I took off running through the school gates and across the front courtyard. The yard was deserted, everyone else must of been in class already. My sandshoes slapped hard against the cement, echoing across the empty space like cannon fire. It only took a minute to reach my classroom but it felt like an eternity. I swung open and the door and entered the classroom only to come screeching to a halt. Everyone else had already taken their seats and a dozen pairs of eyes swung in my direction, searching for the cause of the sudden interruption. Mrs Morsley stood by her desk at the front of the room, a stack of papers in hand and an eyebrow raised.

“Mr Brown. So good of you to grace yourself with your presence” she said, sarcastically.

I could only suck in lungful’s of air in response.

She rolled her eyes. “Well, you’re just in time to receive your marks for your short story.”

I stepped forward and took the piece of paper she offered me. It was indeed my results for my latest assessment.

I had received an A+.

I had received a C.

Mrs Morsley shook her head slightly. “I would have thought you could have done better, Howard. What happened?”

I shrugged and said, “ Sorry Miss, I couldn’t think of anything interesting.”