The West Sea

Chapter 2: Harbor Point

Arman Bruno was about to disembark the Metro Hyper Train two and a half hours late for his first day as a recruit, of which he had no idea. The interlocking doors of the passenger cabins shifted and unsealed, revealing a shimmering, white metallic platform in front. An enclosure of glass and polished steel wrapped the station like a geometric dome; each of its triangle shaped components glimmered softly above the passengers.

As soon as the sliding doors opened, Arman was greeted by the cold, seaside breeze gushing through the open balcony of the platform; the smell of pure, unfiltered briny air captivated his senses as he walked slowly towards the balcony, which was completely empty. He was confused for the most part as he crossed the retails shops and charging stations that cluttered the pristine station.

How could anyone just run around here without appreciating the beauty of the sea? He thought to himself as he reached the open veranda.

Arman felt a feeling of relief that he had never felt in a very long time as he stared blankly into the open seas, while his hands grasped firmly on the stainless steel railing clamped across the curvature of the balcony. He took another deep breath, letting the new memory of the sea dissolve all the pain the war had brought him.

"Beautiful, aint she?" An old man standing from behind asked Arman.

"What?" He replied to the man who, Arman guessed, would be around in his late sixties but his frame looked too well built for an aging senior citizen.

"I said the sea is beautiful, ain't she?" The old man spoke the second time as he stroke his lush white beard.

"Yes. It is very beautiful," Arman replied as he stared at him with a puzzled look, listening intently as the man continued his part of the conversation.

" I remember, when I was a kid, I'd play around the harbor, well you know, back then the water was dirty. I mean, really filled with garbage. But that's what we had back then and we made the most out of it. We swam in it, dove for some shells to sell..." The old man sputtered on as he looked at Arman, waiting for young man's face to show disinterest to his ramblings, but the exact opposite met him.

Arman was genuinely interested in what he had to say, with eyes full of anticipation, which fascinated the bearded elderly.

"Well, now look at it now," the old man resumed. "Full of life and free from whatever memories it had before."

Arman then glanced back and admired the view of the sea once again. "I used to hate the sea, you know," Arman responded. "Because of the war and all. It took everything from me. And now that I'm here, I can't help but feel at awe of it's greatness, like the vast openness of the waters seems to fade into eternity."

The old man, leaning towards the balcony ledge listened closely to the young man from the slums.

"It's funny, you know. One minute I'm spending my morning sweeping the factory floor, and the next minute I'm staring at the sea as a certified citizen."

"So you're one of those, huh?" The old man smiled at Arman. "You're a recruit, aren't you?"

"Yes," Arman nodded. "Just about to start my orientation in a few hours. Arman looked at his watch and saw the short arrow pointed at five and the long one pointed at twelve.

Arman's stomach dropped ten feet as he finally realized why the train's cabin was half empty. It was ten minutes past ten. His breathing became erratic while his hand trembled incessantly, shuddering the metal rails of the balcony ledge.

"Oh God..." Arman muttered under his erratic breath. "I'm so late! Oh God! What did I do?!" He shouted at his broken watch, seemingly trying to transmit his own rage to the timepiece so it could turn back time.