You're Sure

Of all the times you swiped on and off the bus, on and off the train, there has only been a handful - six or seven? - times officers have checked for tickets all year. Now, the one time you're unsure whether you swiped on or not, distracted by taking photographs at the station for your university assignment, here they are. You think you swiped on. You're 90% sure you did. You always do. Now you're paranoid, petrified as you take your seat at the opposite end of where the ticket officers are. They don't look like they're moving your way, but you know they will. You keep telling yourself you swiped on. You're 80% sure you did. You can't sit there for fifty minutes wondering. You need to know now. You can't remember. You're 75% sure you did.

They never came and checked.

[144 words]

Comfortable Silence?

She sat comfortable in the backseat, hiding behind the man and trying to catch glimpses of the guy in front of the man. She wanted to know why. Sure, practically strangers, she didn't know his name but she was sure he knew hers. Just the random acts of kindness that put a smile on her face. She convinced herself they wouldn't have talked anyway, just sat there awkwardly in silence. She appreciated the gesture. And she thanked him, although internally.

[80 words]

Speeding Horror

People had been complaining about the late running of the service, even though they were still making good time. That was until they were jerked forwards at the sound of a loud crash. The train came to a painfully slow stop as people that had been sitting in the same direction of travel began standing, trying to see where the noise had come from.

"A car's been hit!" someone yelled, pointing to what was left of a crumpled, smoking car. Some people were gasping, others screaming or crying. She just stared, shocked, out the window as the sound of sirens filled their ears and they remained stationery, wondering why anyone would try and race a train a million times their size. They wouldn't have survived. No way. But you couldn't stop yourself from hoping.

[134 words]

Stranger

Don't break down... don't break down... don't break down. I was sitting on the train, first carriage, next to one of the men. We'd been stopped at this station for far too long. Five minutes maybe. With each minute I became more nervous. Not that broken trains worried me. The guy sitting next to me did. And I was anxious to get away from him, get this job done quickly. If we were going to be stuck here for the next hour... I couldn't bear it. I really couldn't. I was around so many people, and yet I wasn't free to talk to anyone but him. Any one of the people I was traveling with could recognise me. Save me. Rescue me. But they wouldn't. Because I didn't look the same. Because I was no longer that innocent boy. I was just a stranger. To everyone. Including myself.

[148 words]

Not At Home

I forced my eyes open. It was all just a dream, right? One bad nightmare. It was dark. Nighttime, I guess. I was fine. I was safe. In a few hours Pa will be asking what I got up to last night. What did I get up to last night? I was at the party. Great party, 'til everyone started getting drunk. That's when I left with my small can of vodka. I'd wandered around a bit, no real sense of direction of where I was going. I think I ended up at the train station. I frowned. No, that couldn't be right. That was part of my dream. The dream where I'd been kidnapped from the train station-

I rushed to sit up, hitting my head on something hard. I winced, feeling around in the dark. They'd been a blanket on top of me that was not my own. I began panicking. No. It had all been a dream. This wasn't real. This couldn't be real. I tried to get out, only to find mesh all the way around. I was caged in. This wasn't home at all.

[189 words]

Worth It

It was late. Too late. She knew from last nights experience that even the night before, it could take two hours to get to sleep. That was two hours less you had to enjoy those dreams. Two hours less rest. Two hours on transport tomorrow morning. Two hours at uni tomorrow. Two hours on transport tomorrow afternoon. Fun, fun, fun. Actually, it was quite horrible, not that she'd let on that. Ahhh, the time she had to draw and write... was endless, really. She'd had so many words written on the train the last two days she hadn't written all holidays. Hopefully that could continue. More words, more stories. Work towards that novel she hadn't had time for anymore. She missed it. But it'd be worth it in the end, right?

[131 words]

Change Expected

11 April 2010

She was kind of excited to get out of the house again and get back into her travel routine. She knew by the next day she'd question how she came about this thought. Perhaps it was one step closer to seeing people again. Or one step closer to the longer break in June. Either way, she was determined to get more work done on the train for the rest of the semester - reading, writing, working - she would make progress, and probably freeze at the same time. Closer to winter every day. But she liked winter. She loved the jeans and jumpers and the cold air. Why did she expect that to change?

[114 words]

Train Ramble

22 March 2010

Sorry for not posting this yesterday - I wrote it early in the morning on the train ... with a funny feeling that by the time I got home and worked on my assignment I'd forget about it ... so it's pretty lucky I wrote it early! Hate to break the link now...

She yawned, watching the scenery flash her by as she sat shivering under the air conditioning on the train. She didn't know what to write really, but if she continued to ramble, maybe something would come to her. Another train sped past the window. She'd just finished her readings. She was sitting behind a woman in a bright red top who'd just sat down opposite a man in his early twenties that looked like a character straight out of her book. They pulled in at Bowen Hills. Not much longer now. Just a few more stops . . . then of course about half hour of waiting around at uni before her lecture on music reviewing began. She wished she had her music now, but she was listening to the creak of the doors behind her that led to the next cariage. She didn't know what she was writing, instead she let her pen flow, but it was about time she put it away and prepared to get off at the platform after next.

[174 words]

Nothing On The Railway

The officer directed passengers to the correct platform across the overpass. It was peak hour, and many of them were unsatisfied at the delay. His men would have to work quickly. They could only hold the trains off for so long. And to be honest, how much evidence did they really think they'd find?

A woman made her way towards him, her eyes he noticed, transfixed on the men standing around on the tracks.

"Heading into the city?" he asked as she approached.

"Um, yeah."

"Platform one."

"What's happened?"

She snapped her gaze to him quickly, before eyeing the officers again. One of them was pointing towards the nearest platform, in clear debate with his colleagues. He followed her gaze, sighing, "Please move on ma'am."

"Was someone killed?"

He eyed her suspiciously. She wasn't going to give up on this, and they'd already alerted the media, so it's not like she wouldn't find out.

"Someone was kidnapped."

He saw the surprise, then horror, then sadness, twist into the depths of her eyes.

"Age?" she whispered.

"Seventeen."

"Well is there anything we can do?"

"Try not to interfere," he reminded her, before adding in a softer tone, "and listen to the news and wait for a description."

She gave a brief nod before hurrying off up the stairs. He glimpsed the group of people - policemen and railway workers - climbing off the tracks. Their expressions were easily read. Nothing.

[239 words]

Travel Routine

The rain drizzled down the windows, doing little to brighten the mood in the carriage. Almost every seat was occupied, yet no one was talking. Perhaps it was a little too early in the day to be making conversation. Everyone seemed oblivious to everyone else, and every so often a yawn would be caught. Some people were reading, others listening to music, some both. And the majority did nothing at all except sit there, staring dully out onto the wet landscape that passed them by, occasionally glancing at the other morning travellers, making unshared assumptions of that persons looks, actions and values.

It was a tiring and blatantly ordinary routine, with little that changed from day to day, except maybe the weather, and hour of travel. In the end, was it all worth it? Would it be worth it by the end? Four hours a day, five days a week this would be; enough to get study done, but would enough of that study actually get finished? That's where distractions would once again come in, and disturb the carefully prepared plans. Maybe tomorrow, work would get done in that seemingly wasteless travelling, instead of the music and novel reading. Even if it was story planning, writing or editing. Something other than the earphones that would calm her anxiety for only a short hour...

[223 words]

Terror

This one's kind of weird and creepy. Sorry bout that. It was almost entirely based on a dream I had the other night, cept the dialogue. Although the last line at the end certainly was. In the dream, I was trying to say something that started with 'var' or 'ver', but I don't know what it was. Funnily enough, I didn't seem to be scared in the dream, nor when I woke up. So it wasn't the kind of nightmare you'd expect...

We all sat, holding onto our lives as the train stood motionless on the tracks. This was a full carriage, full of innocents, full of hostages, and just two men stood walking backwards and forwards. I sank lower in my seat, fidgeting with the ties upon my hands. Whoever these men were, they had come prepared. There was not one of us passengers left that didn't have our wrists tied by rope or cuffs. None of us dared to breathe a word as they guarded their posts. We could see the police outside, no doubt trying to devise plans to get us out of there alive. My hair fell across my face, as I went by unnoticed, as did many of us quiet ones. I did however, have a knack for detail, and the man sitting a few rows in front passing along a screw behind him did not go unnoticed by me. If they were all cutting their restriants free, they had to be careful. If our captors caught sight of it . . .

Too late. The one with the rifle swung around his chest turned just as a woman up front was accepting the passing screw. He hit her across the face, and she screamed, tears streaming down her face. He bent slightly to pick up the fallen screw. He held it up to us all, spinning it swiftly in his fingers.

"Whose bright idea was this?"

I stared around the carriage, full of men and woman, middle aged, elderly, even a young mum. We all held our breaths.

"Don't make me repeat the question."

A young kid at the very front of the carriage stood, his wrists free of his cuffs.

"You?"

"Aye."

The guy lifted his rifle. I saw a pair of hands grab it and pull it upwards and before I knew it, everyone around me was scrambling for the doors. Some, like me, still tied up. Others from the front free of movement. I was shoved forwards amongst the hostages bursting for the door and I saw the second captor pull out a knife and strike the nearest person within reach, just when we heard the first gunshot go off. Everyone ducked, beginning to edge back to their seats. I stood swaying in the aisle. I ambled forward to the nearest handle grip, but my fingers slipped and I fell to the floor, my face beside someone's shoe as I realised that I was the one who'd been shot. The bullet stung my back as I fought to keep consciousness.

"Now you understand what happens."

I felt him slam his foot onto my back, boot across my shoulder blades. Stay alive, I thought, stay alive. I heard the train doors open and felt a welcome fresh breeze play with my hair as my breathing slowed, my eyes drooped. I became aware that I couldn't move my body, and yet, I was alive and hearing.

"Your first body!" I heard a voice somewhere above me yell, and I was dragged forwards. I felt the floor beneath me disappear as I fell, about a metre, to the ground. The doors slammed shut again. The police stood hestiant, watching my unmoving body, before someone came forwards to check for my breathing.

"She's dead." the person announced grimly. No, no I wasn't. I could still feel the pain. I tried to open my eyes, but it just wouldn't work. So I tried to use my voice instead.

"Var . . . ver . . . ver . . ."

I knew then I was going to be okay. I just hoped the rest of the hostages would be, too.

[612 words]