the following is a story that happened to me this morning. Haha i'm trying to write it like some novel!
—
The train grinded to a halt in the middle of the tunnel, letting out an eerie howl into the darkness. As the commuters struggled for balance and held on to whatever their flailing arms could reach, Ian was rudely jolted from his sleep.
He did not enjoy a good rest the previous night. Fighting bad dreams and the cold of the night, he remembered writhing in bed and checking the clock. It read 5:33am. In what seemed like mere minutes later, his handphone alarm sounded. 7:30am, wakey wakey. And now I can't even enjoy a little nap on the train, he grumbled to himself. At the corner of his eye, Ian thought he saw a zombie. Great. Hallucinations, he grumbled again.
He checked the time on his handphone instinctively and frowned. The train was taking an awfully long time. On a normal day he would already be walking the last stretch to the office by now. Today was not a normal day, as he wondered what the hold-up was all about.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the overhead announcement boomed alive, as though reading his mind. It was the train operator, not the usual coo of a female recorded voice. "Next stop, Novena. Please be reminded that the floors are wet. Passengers, please alight with caution."
The train started crawling out of its spot again. Before it could proceed more than a hundred metres, the operator had called on the brakes again. This time the stop came with a bigger jerk. As sudden as the train stopped, it accelerated towards the next station. A woman in the next car fell.
Ian heaved a frustrated sigh. He was about to mutter out words of displeasure when the operator gave a second announcement. "Ladies and gentlemen, please proceed with caution. The station is flooded."
Images of a station in chaos inside his mind were halfly confirmed as the train approached The Green Station. 10 or so workers were in various degrees of squating, drying off the floors and squeezing the water into buckets, as a supervisor beckoned them to hasten their efforts. The giant glass doors were wet from a spray five minutes ago, little droplets of drain water trickling down the vertical incline. A worker wearing army fatigues was climbing up a ladder into the ceiling, scanning the viscinity with a flashlight.
The train finally came to a rest. There was a pause. Longer than usual, he was getting used to it.
When the doors finally opened, he felt a gush of unwelcomed warm air from the failed air conditioning rush into the passenger cars. It was followed by the rusty stench of drainwater, as images of his army days flashed across. A man standing a metre away cowered his nose into his tee-shirt, choosing instead his own familiar odour for his oldfactory senses.
And then he saw it. 10 metres. Half left.
He felt his left hand slide into his slingbag, searching wildly. Jacket, book, documents, not what he wanted. He looked up and it was gone. Frantically he searched, his left hand banging about the walls of the Nike bag he bought two weeks ago.
His fingers finally hit gold and wasted no time. His palm slipped into place around that familiar feel of metal. Rounding his fingers around the weapon, his index finger found its place at the trigger, ready to deliver death at his command. He kept a straight face, lest everyone starts panicking, he reminded himself. All those years of training were finally being put to use.
Ian's eyes darted around the station hoping to find his foe into his sights. The supervisor was barking at the workers now. There were people hauling a slab of concrete floor that led to the sewerage. Probably where the flood had came from.
He gave a hard blink and brought himself back into focus. Where was it!?
"Doors closing."
His fingers around the weapon gave a firmer grip, feeling into the warm sensation they had given it just a moment ago.
The usual 7 beeps sounded in quick succession.
Ian took in a hard breath. Any time now.
With a subtle hiss of pressurised air, the metal doors started closing. His eyes focusing onto the remaining path of space between himself and the exterior of the car. The task was actually getting easier every moment, yet his shoulder muscles became more tense by the moments.
When the rubber linings clamped together with a thud, Ian finally relaxed his grip and removed his hand from the bag. A couple noticed his hand had been inside for some time and gave him a puzzled glare. He brushed it off.
The train once again crawled to motion. As he whizzed past the shiny floors of the station, he prayed silently that there be not a same experience for the remaining stations…
