Left Behind

Part 1

I wish I'd worn a coat as the chilly air bites at my skin. The gaping hole in the glass that separates me and the train tracks howls in anguish as the wind screeching through the cracks and spits silvery slivers of glass onto my desk. Shuddering, I manoeuvre my stiff fingers to allow the rush of wheels to race by on the frozen tracks outside. A sole tear runs down my cheek as I gingerly peel the shards of glass from the items on my desk. One from the crackly heap of ribbons and crumpled holographic foil that proudly declares 'Graduate!', another from the curled edges of a maroon leather passport, the third and fourth from a faded but well-loved copy of 'Lord of the Rings'. On the worst days, I find myself wishing these items had never found their way to my care, that these people's stories were still in writing, rather than bound with leather and placed on a shelf where no one can reach them, leaving only me to guard their secrets, clasp their hands and hold their hearts. A fresh gust of icy air breaks me from my trance and sends the treasured items flying across my desk. In this moment, the snow and paper and scraps of fabric encircling me like a hurricane, my heart rate slows and I feel able to breathe for the first time in years. I find peace in chaos. Petals and confetti land slowly on my hair as the spirits in my office stop wreaking havoc. Sinking onto the beanbag that serves as a chair, my attention is drawn to a scruffy figure staring at me through the sheets of snow. With each passing moment, the sparks from the wheels of the train approach it with alarming proximity. My frozen fingers find the bolts and I trudge across the gravel towards the object in the distance. A large rectangular object brushes my cheek as it wizzes through the air.

'Could have told you that was going to happen', a voice says from in front of me.