Blood on my Hands

❦ Chapter One, Anybody ❦

        He stood.

        The majority of his shoes off the edge, while only a fraction of his feet floated above the ground.

        He took a step forward, catching himself when his foot hit the next rail. He brought the rest of himself over the gap, balancing again on the rail. He was now centered perfectly in the middle of the track, and the train was due at 2:30 PM to go down this track.

        Taking a calm breath, he readjusted his weight, now facing the direction the train would be coming from head on. He kept his eyes ahead of him, not glancing down once to look at his hands while he yanked the note from his pocket. He brought the bloodied paper up to his face, and folded it to the shape of a paper airplane, like ones he used to make in school. The dry crimson cracked a bit when he folded it, and studying it for a minute he came to realize it looked a bit more like brown.

        He weakly threw it off the track, just to have it swivel around, landing to the right of him. Not quite on the rails, but not off either. He sighed, and took a couple steps to his right, not bothering to avoid stepping in the ground, his shoes already ripped and worn out. He let his heal hook onto the edge of the rail, metal digging into his skin, not enough to draw blood.

        After retrieving the plane, he turned around, ready to resume his place, but something sped by him.

        The train's windows lit up, and he captured the expression of every rider. His foot and shoulder ripped along his shoe. It past him slowly, too slowly. He stood, frozen to the spot as it finally passed his place. Once it was out of eyeshot, he fell to the ground, watching his foot bleed out, knowing that this is how he'll go.

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        Some workers skipped through the tunnels. The light blinded them for a second, before fading. The two went over the rails, glancing up the sun, showing 9:00 AM, the next morning. One chuckled, stopping abruptly to lean his hands on his knees.

        "Hey, kid, check this out! We've got another one!"

        He peered over, cocking an eyebrow. "I don't see anything," he yelled back. The other skipped over, locked their elbows, and dragged him to his previous spot. They both looked down at the starved body next to the tracks, bleeding out through his shoulder, knee, and various other cuts on his body.

        "Hm, you're right. This one didn't even make it to the tracks," he inquired.

        The older hopped off the rails, his eye catching at a paper plane caught in a bush. He unfolded it, ripping it slightly. His mouth fell agape slightly. "Woah," he spoke, "this guy even thought his family would come look for him."

        "Damn, that's tragic," the younger spoke, pulling the body up from under his arms. He set him down next to his friend, analyzing him slightly. "Should we...?" he asked, gesturing to the body.

        "You know the rules, c'mon, I'll get the legs," he said, lifting the body's legs off the ground. The younger groaned, lifting his arms.

        "Great, I got blood on my hands."

         After a bit of walking, they made it to their destination.

        They hoisted the body into the pile, on top of thousands of other bodies.