The Tracks I Left Behind

A Story by Julia

a little gory

The man was average height. He was thin and his veins stood out when his muscles flexed. He had a dark canvas bag slung over one shoulder. He looked anxious. He leaned forward and craned his neck to the left to look for the train. Nothing. His neck returned to normal but the tips of his toes remained over the edge. He bounced in place, jiggled his hands, glanced at his watch. His hand reached into the bag but then drew out at an alarming speed. Perhaps there was a snake in there. The thought made her smile. She watched the man and felt her own blood stir, her own feet tap, her own hands dance. She watched the man fiddle with his glasses, sigh and once again crane his neck. The tops of his flat, brown shoes inched further and further off the edge. She smiled again, understanding his impatience. She turned away and reached in her own bag cautiously. She heard a cry and whipped her head around just in time to see the man cascade forwards into the pits of the train track. Her eyes danced rapidly until they could focus on the man. His face was cut and bleeding from the rough edge of the track, his arm twisted awkwardly. He stood up in pain and people on the platform gathered around him, watching him struggle. She felt connected with him, somehow and ambivalently stepped forward to help. His eyes pleaded for assistance. Nervous about extending her hand, she paused. A strong hand from amongst the crowd plunged forward, relieving her. He twisted against the pull of the hand in every direction, a puppet dancing, struggling for a grip on anything he could use to move upward. Suddenly the man was bathed in a bright yellow light, an un-natural sun. A rumbling of noise pressed against her ears. She craned her neck and terror closed her throat. The man’s face turned a ghastly white and he began to scramble with the strong hand with all his might. He pulled with such force the hand was frightened and yanked away. She felt her heart beat out of her chest and a scream bubble towards her mouth. His face was a mirror image. As if in slow motion, she watched the man lower himself to the litter beneath him and flatten himself against the track. The crowd watched in silence as the train ran through the track, on top of the miserable man underneath. It screeched to a stop, completely unaware of the body beneath it. A few passengers boarded the train. She watched in horror, unable to move. Her brain was frozen, her legs, without direction, rooted to the ground beneath them. Her fist was white, squeezing her bag as hard as she could, as if the pressure she applied to the bag could take away from the pressure the train applied to the man. She shook with miserable anticipation as the train departed. She had done nothing. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what had happened to the man, wasn’t sure that she deserved to know. She quickly turned away and ran out of the station, forgetting about where she had to go. As she walked up the stairs she heard a faint gasp from below. A chill ran through her as she left without turning back.