It was a cool Friday evening and the weekend was approaching, nothing could go wrong now. Driving along Presario Street, as I do everyday from work, I decide to stop by the local junkyard to see what I could pick up for fun. As I was walking along the aisles, I noticed this old looking school bus. As quickly as I saw this school bus, I remembered everything there was to know about this terrible tragedy and why it no longer carries innocent looking children to school anymore.
It was exactly twelve years ago, like any other day. The sun was awaking up from its slumber, telling the people of the world that it was that time once again, to wake up. Children were getting ready to go to school as usual. Children packing their own lunches or receiving money from their pa
They would then skip along to the bus stop, where the bus would take them to school. But this day was different for a new bus stop was located across the train tracks. Screams from the children were filling the inside of the bus, but no one outside could hear them, as if the bus had become a sound studio. I bet you are asking why I know so much about this tragedy, aren"tmt you. rents, as if their parents were like ATM machines. Where did the bus stop at, you ask It stopped right on the edge of the tracks. Their strengths grew in numbers as if Superman was there himself opening all the latches to the exits. Tears were rolling down the cheeks of the children. That"tms right, I am little Johnny Doe. However, this bus was caught at the light. Then the train struck the bus, it sliced the top of the bus off as if it was butter. The train"tms air horn got louder and louder, as if the train was the bull and the school bus was the matador. No, I am not the bus driver, if that"tms what you"tmre implying; I was that kid that lived on the other side of the train tracks. The train was coming towards the bus, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.