The Train Ride

The screaming, the threatening, the arguing grows louder and louder despite my headphones being plugged in. It's been going on since they were locked in here with me. Discreetly, I slide my fingertips up the cord until it reaches a button. One. Two. Three. Four. The chaotic sounds are being chased away by the music. 

I shift in my spot, muddy shoes now pressed up against the seat in front of me. No one will care, no one ever cares here. The bumps come to a slow stop, the doors slide open, the screaming couple thankfully leave and in their place an old man enters.

His eyes look over my body, slowly, thoughtfully . . . lingering over certain areas. The man has sunken eyes and silver hair. He shuffles over towards me with a stealth like demeanour before sitting behind me, cool air trailing behind him. I feel a breath graze over my neck. A cold shiver runs down my spine and a well known tic follows it. He is too close.

I can't do anything.

Uncomfortably I pull the sleeves of my jacket down and fumble around with the cold zipper at the bottom. My eyes drift off to the long window on the left of me. I use the images passing by to try and distract myself. I watch the rusty roofs, broken dun and amber fences, and the swirling rubbish go by. A singular, dismantled, browning car quickly grabs my attention. Yet it rushes past me in a haze. Bringing me back to the area around me. I feel the presence behind me gradually getting closer. But how close? Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible I slightly turn my head.

Wide, dull, beady eyes pierce directly back through mine. He doesn't look away, no, he keeps staring at me - pupils dilating. My body stiffens and I turn back around quickly. The back of my chair turns into wet cement and I steer far away from touching it. I'm not safe being so close to him.

Will I be safer with one earphone out for hearing? No. What good will that do? Hesitantly I bring my head up to peek around the long rows of chairs in search. But to no avail. I'm all alone with this old man. My stomach churns and I look up to the screen ahead of me.

Two more stops.

My memory suddenly races back to only a few minutes ago. And how I wish to have those screaming people with me again. My feet slide down, landing on the muggy floor and I slowly inch my body further off the seat - hoping to go unnoticed.

The tips of something cold and calloused brushes across my neck making me jump. My hand flies around in search of what had touched me. Nothing is there.

It was his hand, his disgusting, dirty hand. My stomach drops in a distasteful way and the palms of my hands start to sweat.

The bumps come to a stop again. No one enters. No one goes out. The bumps begin again. My heart decides to start unevenly pumping against my rib cage, acting as yet another thing weighing me down. I look back up to the screen.

Six minutes.

I dig out my phone from the depths of my pocket. With shaky hands I text my old number - a number that's not in use anymore. Hoping the eyes are watching me I send, 'I'm almost there!' With that I feel a slight presence move further away from me. My breath is held tight and my body remains rigid.

Once again the bumps slowly come to a stop. As if racing one another, my feet carry me to the sliding doors. My body propels itself forward, shoulders scraping against the opening doors. I have passed the threshold that was trapping me in that small cell.

No one follows after me. I let out a long breath. Then take in a long breath. However, the disturbing feeling doesn't leave my stomach and the anxiety stays with my trembling hands. I have to walk home now.

9:00pm.

And tomorrow?  . . .  One can only guess what will happen when entering that moving prison.

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Published on the 27/07/2021 at 3:28pm

- Blake Snow Hillman