A faded bus rocked gently from side to side as it wound through blue mountains. Its rhythm lulled the passengers into a half-sleep. The sun floated behind slate clouds.
Mo looked through the window, as the bus moved through old mountain passages. She saw her reflection – a ghost superimposed on the passing forest. Her mother had been dead 6 months. She hoped that leaving New York, she would also leave everything else, with the exception of her inheritance.
The bus took her down along highways and roads, tributaries leading closer to an alternate future. She stared out the window, watching for something to stand out in the deep green wash of trees. She saw nothing but the lines of her face quivering in the glass.