Rain pounded upon the rooftops and umbrellas, echoing throughout the city. The warm sticky rain, the rumble of shoes on soggy pavement and the constant honking of impatient taxis clashed together in a cluttered symphony. The masses did their best to avoid the water that dripped from smog infested skies; cramming themselves and their material items together, they moved swiftly through the maze of New York. Their efforts forming a temporary tightly knit rain shield.
Down below the shivering streams of people, the stench of urine and rodent fecal matter filled the noses of those awaiting the transportation that squirmed underground. A low ceiling, dirty walkways and an excess amount of people constricted the space upon the platform. They waited semi-patiently for the much needed, but always-late subway line. Amidst the cluster of irritated businessmen and women and the plethora of homeless beggars asking for who-knows-what, children of all ages found room upon the platform. The claustrophobic tunnel made the children squirm in an uneasy tension that their parents mistook for acting up. They stuck close to their adults, afraid to be left behind in the mess of people and garbage that littered the enclosed tunnel.
The first train arrived and the flood began. People forced their way on and off the train, creating a mad and hectic blur. Once the train departed, and the platform calmed itself, those left on the platform could breathe a bit easier. Among the few smart humans on this platform, was a boy of seventeen. He had grown to be rather tall throughout his life, but he had yet to rid himself of teenage awkwardness. Dusty blonde hair framed an acne tainted face and brightened blue eyes. On square shoulders hung a black leather jacket that opened just enough to see royal blue dress shirt and a Black necktie, which loosened with his every breath. Keeping colors and attention away from him he wore black jeans held up by a DNA speckled belt. He was a young kid, influenced by everything, but smart enough to know better. Ignoring the guitar in his hands, judgmental eyes devoured him. According to their silent voices, he had killed a man before he knew what puberty was. He was a careless troublemaker.
He shifted the Gibson Hummingbird Pro Guitar case that hung in his naked hand. This case protected his only friend, a Martin D-16GT Dreadnought left handed guitar. They were inseparable and he liked it that way.
The boy made no eye contact, adding to his threatening demeanor, he let his head phones cast away the unwanted noise of gossip. He listened to the news from his phone like he did every morning. Each day he awoke with a diminishing hope that they would bring news of a woman he missed terribly, Karol Jennings, but he knew her as Mom. She was never truly important to the boy; she was like every other person on this Earth in his eyes, a liar. No matter how much part of him hated her for the neglect, nagging curiosity needed to hear that her body had been found. He knew she was dead, everyone did, but not a single person had the guts to go against her husband and report it. It sickened the boy to the point he began to cough openly, flem building in the back of his throat, causing him to spit. The saliva puddle at his feet was a ghostly clear with red undertones. He raised his hand to his lip, wiping the blood away from the freshly open wound he had exposed.
The Train arrived roughly twenty minutes after the last one, this one surprisingly on time. He and the others that were left behind found their way onto the metal contraption and took their seats. He looked around, studying everyone in a wave of paranoia, counting fifteen people on his section of the train. His nerves calmed, seeing as there was no teenage boys on board. His seat was in the rear of the subway, close enough to a door, but far enough that he could fight if he needed to. Placing his case between his feet, he settled into his seat and changed apps on his phone so music would play in his ears instead of the same boring news: People still missing, a dead girl and a computer geek that was making some sort of breakthrough with his fancy technical crap littered the news.
The train took off, going to its designated stops, boarding more and more people. It was beginning to become just as claustrophobic and trash filled as the platform that everyone came from.
It was a while before the boy snapped himself out of his dazed fantasy. He raised his head from its slumped position, his eyes capturing a young, beautiful Asian girl of seventeen, in their dilated wonder. Purple flats, black stockings on fair olive skin, and a mid-thigh pencil skirt. He raised a curious eye, granting them allowance to see the deep purple blouse she wore that discretely outlined her under matured bust. He let his eyes linger for a moment before finally becoming civilized and studying her face. Her features were soft, clear, but thin. The black rimmed, round glasses gave her Vietnamese heritage a glow and attract attention. Her doe eyes stood out against her olive skin. Brown hair was tied into an elegant bun on top of her head; strands of hair tickled her cheeks. She was breath taking, and she knew it.
She ignored the punk boy as he starred wide-eyed, her own eyes fixated upon the book in her hands. She wanted nothing to do with him. Seeing his look, pride swelled in her head, but she hid it all with a blank expression. When he opened his mouth to speak she rolled her eyes and waited for his babbling to begin.
Fate stepped its ugly head into his life as the lights shut off before he could exhale. All sound evaporated with the lights, leaving nothing but thought in his mind. It was as if God had muted the world before rewinding it back to the big bang.
