'Rail Replacement' by James Williamson
Posted by sregan | Filed under prose
So tired. I'm sure the couple behind me were giggling at me just now. Perhaps that's what couples do. Perhaps I'm bitter. The busy station seems like a far-off dream. A gasp of violent air before I'm plunged back into the deep numbness.
I look around at the dim-lit figures in their seats, in the same vegetative state as myself. I feel almost a connection with them; our fates for the duration of this journey are bound together with this coach. I start to think about who I'd save first if it all went up in flames. I wonder if anyone would save me.
I glance back at the giggling couple now and again. Try and make it look natural. Look at them without looking like I'm looking. Catch her eye, look away.
The flashing headlights in the gloomy black outside my window focus my vision totally on my immediate surroundings. Soon there is nothing but this coach, travelling through a void of darkness and lights. We are an aluminium tube of souls hurtling endlessly into uncertainty.
I feel accepted - we all have at least something in common. We are all here together on this coach, now... right? No-one is really alone here. The couple obviously have each other, it's true, but what we do on the coach effects everyone else on it. It's us against the blackness outside, the cruel harsh lights. I feel true peace and harmony. I am safe.
But then we stop. Lights come on and the figures scramble like animals towards the exit. They want out. The giggling couple, now silent, get off too and I follow. So tired. I come up again for air, but I can't breathe.
- James Williamson
