Subway

Chapter Two

The rest of the week was uneventful. I stayed in my apartment. I called in sick at school. I went no where. I didn't need to go anywhere, so I didn't go.

Tons of people were wondering what had happened to me. Soph was probably the most anxious to know. She kept calling me over and over again. I didn't ever pick up. I didn't feel that anyone needed to know what was going on with me. One person I didn't expect to have a call from is Mr. Robinson. He called me once, which still was weird. How did he even get my number?

I ignored him like everyone else. But something made me feel different about that. Was he calling me for work, or for just reassuring that I was OK? No other teacher even bothered to call.

As puzzled as I was, I moved on and turned on the TV. It was a crappy little thing, no bigger than a computer screen. It was supposed to be a color TV, but it didn't work. The color was all blurry, and parts of the screen would flash and be all, well, static-ey. I turned it to MTV, the only good channel I got. It was playing Jersey Shore, which is, by far, the worst show ever. I turned the channels. The only other channel that was working was the Spanish channel, or whatever it was called. I turned it off. Who would watch that if they didn't speak Spanish?

I got onto my computer. I thought it would be useful during college. It actually SAVED MY LIFE!

Not literally, of course, but of boredom. I turned it on and went to Hulu. My parents gave me a membership for me going to college. I barely used it, but still, it was helpful. I searched up The Twilight Zone, which is probably the best show ever, and started my favorite episode, The Monsters Are Due On Maple Street, the one about a whole town that has and "alien" in it, and the real aliens from up above make them go into madness and death.

I watched that once, and thought about it. What if the people on the subway were like that?

When I remembered that, I went online. I searched up the accident, and an article from the New York Times came up. It was written by a man named J. D. Tomas, an apparent writer. He said in his article: "Man has pain. Often, it demands to be felt. On the 21st, an unidentified man ran into the subway station and stabbed three people. He decided that those people needed to die to understand his pain and suffering." He wrote about the murders, and the "juicy" details, like where they were stabbed. This didn't exactly help me, but I did know who would. I packed up my computer and ran out of the apartment.

I walked to the street and almost hailed a cab, but decided to take the subway. I thought that if I went to the place that I felt suffering would end. The New York Times building was far away, so the subway would just be the reasonable thing to go. I started to walk to the nearest station at Lexington. I had passed it while coming home from my parents house downtown. I went down, and the train was just arriving. I ran on, and barely made it on. Surprisingly, no one was on the train. I sat down on a seat near the window, and the train just started. I was fine until I noticed the doors were open. They hadn't shut! I ran to the middle seat, not close to any door. I looked out the window, and almost passed out.

Right in the second the train was there, I saw, in a red color, the word DIE. And then a few seconds later, a knife flew into the window and got stuck there. I was screaming like crazy. I couldn't get off!

Finally, the train was pulling into the station. But it would not stop!

I took my chances and jumped right off. The train went on like it was leaving. Tons of people rushed over to see if I was OK. I told them to give me a little space, but they didn't listen.

They called 911 and told them about me. Next thing I know, I'm in the hospital.

And someone is following me. He was him.