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CHAPTER 1 [PILOT]

It was dim, the sun barely showing interest in warming the surface of the train station. Stuart stood next to the stop, like a few others, the steam from his gas station tea hitting his neck at some points. It would sway with the light breeze like a flame.

The air was sharp, biting him, then apologizing with a warm breeze wrapping around him. He took a sip, showing slight distaste on his face. It tasted just like hot water. He knew never to get gas station tea again. Maybe coffee?

His eyes wandered around the bare scenery around him, he looked further to his right at the freeway. The constant white noise from the cars was nice. Except when someone honked, which always caused Stuart to flinch. He would feel extremely embarrassed after, thinking someone could've seen him, and would probably be laughing. He hated having Amaxophobia, [the fear of cars] that's why I didn't like being in taxis, so he took the train. Even though, it wasn't much different. The more he thought about it, the more he began to think it was actually further dangerous than cars.

He shrugged and took another emotionless sip. He didn't like to overthink, especially in the mornings. What good would it do? He wouldn't be able to express his insecurities or stresses to anyone. He had no one to talk to. He just sat in silence at the train station, waiting for it to arrive. He winced when the brakes grinded, making a high pitch noise. He hated this train. He sighed, his eyes toward the doors. He stumbled at first, making his tea spill on his fingers. He inhaled his pain, quickly throwing away his tea in the nearby garbage can. He didn't want to drink that gross stuff anyways. He held his burnt two fingers close to his chest while walking towards the doors. He waited patiently for most of the passengers to get in, so he wouldn't have to squish and push himself in. Just a little nice thing he liked to do. After most of the people cleared out, he walked into the train. One con of being one of the last people walking in is that he might not have a seat, so he usually stood. But it never hurt to look around for a seat.

There was a seat free, but it was next an old woman. From his experience, they like to have conversations, and he didn't feel like talking that morning, so he kept looking around. There was another one by a little boy, and he probably would like to ask him questions. He sighed. Maybe he'll just stand again. He began to lose hope for even looking for seats anymore. He walked in the middle of the isle, kind of getting in some sort of order with other people standing, hanging on to one of the bars above him. Which, wasn't really above him since he was taller. At least he didn't have to duck. He liked that. As a few more people went in, they took the seats that he could've taken, which made him smile. If he took one of the seats, one of them wouldn't be able to sit, and he would feel bad. The train started up again, which made him stumble, like a few others. Another reason why he hated this particular train is that it seemed to be bumpier than the others. But he didn't fill himself up with tea, so maybe he wouldn't feel nauseous or needing to pee after the ride. He seemed to zone out, looking in front of him. He watched people's hair and body move with the bumps, and when the train turned, he watched the bodies lean with the turn. Of course, he didn't realize that he was doing it himself, but it was just something he observed.

As the train went, of course there were multiple stops, in which the train get less full for a moment, then it filled back up again. He could do what some people do, that when people get off, go grab a seat before the other people came in from the same stop. But that would be selfish. Maybe if his legs hurt really bad, then maybe he would, but he cared more about other people, even though they were strangers.

He got off on the third stop. He didn't have a job. A house to go to. He just, walked. Window shopping, asking if a place is hiring, such things. Well, looking for a job was soon stopped when he was judged all the time. He would ask, then they would look at his hair, his eyes, smile weakly, and say no. He was a very nice person; it was just his looks. He knew he wouldn't get hired with his looks when he was 15, but he still tried.