The station was rammed with impatient thoughts commuting to and from every nerve ending in my body. Colossal screens blinkered with new information every two minutes or so; the fluorescent orange text stinging my retinas. Several delays had been announced and the transport centre was yet to decide when normal service would be up and running.

–

She had been stood in the fruit and vegetable aisle for ten minutes now. Her face was flushed beetroot and she twiddled her fingers and thumbs erratically.

–

Commuters continued to barge past; battering and bruising my shoulders as they went. The shrill whistle of trains in-waiting – the steam vacating and the pistons squeaking – called to me, urging me onward to a decision. I forced my feet to move, sluggishly, across the marble tiles towards platforms five and six.

–

“Scuse me, love.”

A gentleman reached around her frozen form to choose a cabbage from the shelf. He received no response and eyed her warily. Her eyes were like blown glass – glazed and swirling with colour. Her hands provided the only sign of life as they continued to twitch.

–

The signage for platforms five and six loomed above me. The numbers, the choice, staring down menacingly; baring polystyrene white teeth. The attendant stood alone, immovable, despite the tide of people clicking through the platform gates – feet stammering onward toward a train, a possibility, an opportunity. My fingers trembled as I withdrew the worn ticket from my pocket. They continued to shake as I approached the gate. This was it.

Prose: © Kristiana Reed 2019

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