Grand Central Station, 1951

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic


A busy Grand Central Station is no place for the weak. Hundreds of people swiftly sidestep each other, brushing shoulders and stepping on heels, the lions arriving at their gates ahead of the pack while the remaining animals of the world barely get a hoof on the platform before the train takes off. 

Despite all the beautiful chaos, I was hidden in the background, watching the world around me change. Youthful men and naive ladies hurry off towards their next adventure, while mothers dressed in their Sunday's Best, send their wide-eyed offspring off to educational institutions. I was often overlooked and forgotten, a fleeting thought that was whisked away as quickly as it arrived, but that was how I liked it. Mundane humans would lay their eyes on me for a split second before the power of the mind would blur my very existence into background noise. This made my job much easier. 

A lion myself, I sit and wait for my meal. An antelope who steers away from the pack, preferably a smug male, waiting to be my knight in shining armor. They are my favorite. Add a dash of "excuse me, sir, I am new to the city, could you help me find my way" and a splash of "you are very handsome, is everyone in this city as dashing as you" and then I had them, hook, line, and sinker. 

My volunteers assuming eyes have categorized me the second I open my red-lined lips. I, Kathleen O'Brien, am frail, timid, and vulnerable, although most importantly, I am not a threat to the male ego, but please, call me Kathy. Even with the click of the taxi door locks, my men are still confident, vain, and trusting. 

How could a petite, delicate woman like myself ever be a risk to a well-built man, who if desired could turn the lights out for me with one well-placed left hook to my pale temple? 

Through years of extensive experience, I have discovered that the most efficient way to accomplish my job is to wait until the ignorant is seated in my sisters' taxi before I prick him. Just a small pinch in his collar as I wrap my cold, nimble fingers around the nape of his neck. His once fearless movements become sluggish as his panicked eyes roll back in his tasteless head. 

To the world he was just a man, coming off a train midway between his starting and final destination, but to me, he was just another number. 

As his limp body rolls off the pier into the frigid water below I glance up to the glowing star in the sky. I was put on this earth, in this massive city to remove the filth from this wasteland of a sphere we all inhabit; but in a busy Grand Central Station, I was not a serial killer, no, I was just another lady waiting for my train.


Submitted: April 30, 2020

© Copyright 2021 andeeee28. All rights reserved.

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