Flash fiction feature: The Train

I sat as close to the doors as possible, ignoring the “Priority Seat” written on the discoloured fabric. There was plenty of room in the train carriage for those less able to stand. The vehicle clattered along the tracks loudly.

Powering on my phone, I tucked the folded programme under my left knee and cracked my neck from left to right, revelling in the release. That’s what you get from the cheap seats, I suppose, craning your neck back just to see the whole stage.

The phone glared at me as message after message popped up on all sorts of social platforms. My mother had sent me a text half an hour before. I clicked on it.

How was the show? Heading to bed.

Great. I don’t think I brought my keys with me.

I thought about how to respond. She had suggested I take advantage of the cheaper tickets for students on Monday and Tuesday nights, so I suppose I should be grateful. ‘The Woman in Black’ was a classic and I was happy to see it, even if it wasn’t my choice. Maybe if the rows of school kids behind me actually watched the play, then I would have enjoyed it more.

As I typed a quick response about the dramatics and scenery and whatever else she thinks I should be interested in, we slowly pulled into the next station. Still a while away from home. I’d have to walk if my mum was asleep.

My eyes flicked up to the window as I debated it and my stomach dropped

My eyes flicked up to the window as I debated it and my stomach dropped.

There she was. Old woman. Pale. Cloaked in black. Her reflection looking straight at me. Panicked, I twisted. No one was standing behind me on the platform. I scanned left and right, looking for such a woman underneath the rotten-yellow platform lights. It must have been a figment of my imagination. I scoffed as I turned back around to right myself in the seat.

My eyes met pale blue ones wrapped in leathery eyelids, skin as pale as milk. It was an involuntary reaction to audibly gasp. She was on the train.

The woman I had just seen in the reflection of the platform was standing a meter away, clearly looking at me. Embarrassed, I stood up faster than I have ever moved in my life and walked over to the next set of seats, situating myself out of her view.

Of course, it was just an old woman in a raincoat, wanting her dedicated seat. What was I thinking? The play must’ve gotten to me more than I thought.

There were maybe twenty minutes left until my stop and I let my eyes drift shut. It was late and tomorrow was going to be busy. I couldn’t bear to read another one of the adverts lining the carriage – I’m sure I know all of them off by heart, by now.

…

[Trigger warning: gore]

My eyes flicker open to the penetrating light of morning. I last less than twenty seconds before I curl over in pain, then twist back into a longer position, the movement causing me agony.

Sweat drips off my nose, into my eyes and mouth and I notice my clothes are soaked through.

I am on the floor of the train I must have been on the night before.

The agonising pain continues ripping through my stomach and I sob as my trembling hands lift the hem of my T-shirt.

Two large red slits, either side of my abdomen. Sloppy stitches in thick black thread, holding me together. An emptiness that I hadn’t before noticed.

Something has been taken from me, but I don’t have the ability to consider what as I seize on the greasy plastic of the empty train carriage floor.