“Steam and Suspicion”
A Bus Stop Bison Tale – Rotorua Edition
“Right. Which one of you let one rip?”
Gemma the Gecko’s voice cut through the morning fog like a laser beam. She clung to the back of the bus stop bench, nose scrunched up, eyes watering slightly.
Wally the Weta practically fell off the edge of the rubbish bin he’d climbed onto. “Ugh! I thought I was standing next to a mud pool, not inside a dragon’s armpit!”
Barry the Bison looked wounded. “Hey! Don’t look at me! I haven’t even had breakfast yet.”
“Exactly,” muttered Gemma. “It smells like last night’s curry took revenge.”
Kiki the Kiwi wandered in from the footpath, her beak twitching. “Oof. That’s a special kind of stench. You sure you’re not fermenting from the inside, Barry?”
Barry huffed. “For the last time, it’s not me! Why is it always the bison who gets blamed?”
“Because you’re the size of a campervan and sound like one when you sneeze,” Wally quipped, waving his antenna dramatically.
Just then, a loud blurp! erupted from somewhere behind them. Everyone froze.
“…okay that definitely wasn’t me,” Barry said slowly.
Kiki turned toward the bubbling geothermal pool just across the road. A thick mist curled up into the air, hissing and steaming like a grumpy kettle. “Guys,” she said with a grin, “welcome to Rotorua. Or, as I like to call it: Eggs Benedict Apocalypse.”
The group gagged in harmony.
“You’re telling me this isn’t someone’s digestive failure?” Gemma said, fanning herself.
Kiki hopped up onto the bench. “Nope! All natural, baby. The Earth down here’s got gas like a fizzy drink on a bumpy road.”
Wally nodded solemnly. “Mother Nature just crop-dusted us.”
Gemma snorted. “She’s got range.”
A flutter of wings signalled the arrival of Olwyn the Owl, gliding in like he’d just emerged from a meditation retreat. He perched atop the bus stop sign and blinked slowly, eyes full of ancient wisdom and mild disappointment.
“Ah,” he said, inhaling deeply. “Sulphur and hot rock. Reminds me of the time I nested above a thermal vent. Nice and warm on the feathers. Bit of a smell, though.”
Barry coughed. “Can we get some scientific context, please? I’m being framed for atmospheric crimes.”
Olwyn ruffled his feathers. “What you’re experiencing is the result of geothermal activity—superheated water interacting with minerals underground, releasing sulphur gases. Completely natural.”
“So…” Wally tilted his head. “Still technically a fart?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Olwyn conceded. “Yes. The Earth… tooted.”
Gemma burst out laughing. “So Rotorua is one giant planetary whoopee cushion?”
“You could say that,” Kiki smiled. “Just don’t light a match.”
Another loud gurgle came from the mud pool, followed by a splat of hot bubbles on the path. Everyone instinctively took a step back.
Barry cleared his throat. “Well, I feel slightly vindicated.”
“Only slightly,” Wally grinned. “You’re still on probation, Big Guy.”
As the bus approached, its brakes hissing like the geothermal vents themselves, the group gathered their things. The air still smelled like devilled eggs and burnt socks, but now it carried something else too — laughter, and the promise of another odd Kiwi adventure.
And if you’re standing nearby, catching the same whiff… you might just be in the right place to discover what they left behind.
Who doesn't love a Bus Stop Bison turf war?
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction, written by ChatGPT. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the AI's imagination. Any resemblance to actual creatures, living or dead, events, or locales is entirety coincidental.