Invisible Me

I live in the subway, in the shadows, never seen or noticed by anyone. Well, anyone except the boy. He was only around the age of nine, with straw coloured hair, blue eyes, and a cheeky smile on his face. If I could go home with him... I shake myself. I had been brought up on a street. Who would want me? I shrugged, moving away, not noticing the pound worker combing the crowd, looking for a trace of brown-and-white fur.

                                                                                                  ...

I sighed, looking at the bag in front of me, empty, waiting to be filled with belongings. I was moving house. The war was moving closer, forcing us to leave our homes. My mind wandered to the little dog that I saw regularly at the station. She was a pretty thing. My stomach dropped. Who would take care of her when everyone was gone? Something wet dripped onto my hand. I was crying. I wiped my eyes angrily. Only babies cry. But the little pit of sadness in my heart stayed, making the world turn grey.

                                                                                                   ...

It was raining. I shook myself, shaking all the drops off my coat. I trotted into a train tunnel, pausing slightly to check if I could hear a train on its way. Nothing. I kept going. I saw a pound worker today, obviously intent on catching me on their first day. Do humans ever learn? A shift in wind caught my attention. A train was coming. I sat in an alcove and waited for it to pass. I wondered if my boy was going to leave. Sometimes, at night, I could hear a relentless drone that wasn't usually there. Everyone knew there was a war coming. And it was probably going to take my boy away forever.

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My hand ached from lugging my bag down two flights of stairs. None of my friends were coming with me. They were all leaving, but on a different train to another place, far from where I was going. I would never see them again. Mum called for me to hurry up. We were leaving in the morning. I dutifully lifted my bag and started dragging it down the stairs once more. I wished that the world would stop its quarrelling, and the world would be peaceful once more. Why did the war have to come to us? Where did we go wrong? This war was tearing my little world apart, spreading it across the ocean, never to be the same again. And I couldn't do a thing about it.

                                                                                                ...

I got up, stretching the stiffness out of my body. I groaned and forced myself to walk out of the air duct, the cold metal chilling the pads of my feet. I caught a familiar scent. The boy was at the station, leaving to get away from the war. I trotted faster, breaking into a run, not caring who saw me. I wanted to be there when he left. What I didn't notice was a shadow following me, tracing my every move.

                                                                                               ...

A movement caught my eye. The little dog was coming my way. But a man was following her. He gently lifted a net from his shoulder, and was starting to close in on her when I yelled my warning.

                                                                                              ...

I ducked instinctively when the boy yelled, the net just cuffing me on the back of the head, causing me to stagger. But it was enough. The savage kick caught me in the ribs, sending me sprawling across the floor, dangerously close to the edge of the platform. The next blow sent me over the edge of the platform, straight into the path of a speeding train.

                                                                                              ...

Everything seemed to slow down as I ran towards the little dog, trying to stop her from going over the edge. I was too late. Without thinking, I leapt down to push her off the tracks. She was safely off the tracks when the train hit.

                                                                                              ...

I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the impact, when hands roughly pushed me off the tracks. What was my boy doing? I opened my eyes in time to see my boy yanked off his feet by the force of the train.

                                                                                             ...

Some say that your life flashes in front of your eyes, but that isn't true. Your mind replays the last thing you did, whether it is good or bad. I felt my eyesight start to fade, but just before I let go, I felt a warm tongue lick my cheek, telling me that I had succeeded. I let go of this world with a smile of pure happiness on my face, content with what I had achieved.