This week's Writers Circle exercise was to write something inspired by a paragraph from 'Girl on a Train'. As usual, all the stories were different - from childhood memories to attempted murder. Here's my contribution.
My head was slowly fogging as the muggy air in the carriage warmed
up my cold face and hands. I was lucky, I’d got a seat today. I sat at the end by the window, with the
luggage rack at my back and, as was my preference, facing forwards down the
carriage. Humanity before me. I watched
the Hertfordshire countryside fly by as we drew nearer to London; at each stop
more bodies piled in. Long, smart black coats on shaven headed men; scarves
wrapped around skinny necks to defy the heat loss that fashion was gifting
them. They swayed like winter trees as the train took the huge curve by the
golf course. Dead eyes, the audible beat
of music from headphones. They looked at phones, newspapers, laptops – anything
but the other commuters.
Women in short skirts, thin tights and high heels. Woollen
coats and cardigans, coloured scarves and bright pom pom hats. Severe suits and
emulation. Cheeks as red as their lips from the cold winter air until they hit
the ambient temperature of the heaving carriages, and then their faces burned
with the warmth of too many, too close, and no space to shed a layer or two.
Here we come King’s Cross. A red kite, a buzzard, and a football pitch
teamed with pigeons and gulls. These drew my lazy eyes as I struggled to stay
awake. The rich green fields, the
skeleton trees on grey horizon, replaced by the silhouettes of suburbia. My
head nodded, and I snatched it up again with a startled jerk.
We had just pulled into Finsbury Park and the carriage
suddenly hummed with life. People were moving, collecting, shifting, departing
and joining. A rearrangement of humanity.
Two men dressed in long white robes boarded. I thought it odd. Angels, I
mentally tagged them. Both beautiful,
but no wings. A Christmas party in the
offing, no doubt. They moved towards a
four square in front of me and, without a word, the incumbents vacated, finding
other places to stand or sit, too close, too near to others. The fancy dress duo took their places
opposite each other and spread out in relative luxury in the jam-packed
carriage. I watched them carefully, they intrigued
me. I was sure my surveillance was
obvious but the one who was facing me did not catch my eye.
King’s Cross. This train terminates here. Please take all
your belongings with you.
I never hurry as the heaving mass surges to the doors even
before we’ve hit the platform. My office is only five minutes’ walk away;
plenty of time. Dead eyes, deaf ears,
cold legs and cold heads milled and spilled from the opened doors. With only
stragglers remaining, I stood and stretched. The two angels were still there,
deep in conversation. I passed them on
the way to the open door and muttered “better move or you’ll end up back where
you came from.” A heinous crime, talking to a fellow passenger without invitation,
but I didn’t care. They looked up at me
and back towards where I had been sitting, but I ambled on and out onto the
platform. Hi vis and helmets constructing bicycles from confused concentrations
of metal cluttered the platform briefly. Clattering suitcases dragged towards
an unknown fate added to the cacophony of the station’s morning routine. A few
slow movers – casual with age or indifference – were the last to join me as I hitched
on the tail of the flood towards the exit gates.
Ticket in hand I was nearly at the gate, ready to swipe my
season ticket, when I felt compelled to turn and see if the two idiots all in
white had left the carriage. They had. They stood on the platform and were
waving at someone. It wasn’t a goodbye
wave, but a come here, urgent flapping of perfect hands. I’m not sure why but I felt they were waving
at me. I pointed to my chest and mimed “Me?” They indicated the affirmative. I looked around – it had to be me. I stood for
a second and then knew they wouldn’t come down the now almost deserted platform,
so I trod my curious way back to them. Past the door – to the other side of the
window where I had sat. I looked in.
They gathered round me and put cool hands on my shoulders.
Not a bad way to go, I thought, as I looked at my body, still at rest in the
train as if sleeping.
Photos (C) Carolyn Sheppard
If you liked this, try:
Tonight she lies sleepily – doggie dreams twitching her
paws. Whilst my cat awaits his chance once again to show her that she is the
interloper. It won’t be for long, she’ll go home soon, but she’s had a few adventures
with me.
