Journey To The Centre Of The Midlands

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Slightly ridiculous very short tale of woe on a journey home.

Today I assisted in the killing of another human being.
I was on the train on the way home from work when there was a thud and the sound of scattering stones on the opposite side of the train. Hmm, thought I, what the devil could that be?
It was a person who threw themselves in front of the 18:18 Walsall to Birmingham New Street Train which I was on. I put it down to the fact that I did not get the step-jump right on the way to my train this morning, you see I have to jump on to the third step of the escalator or I will have a bad day. This morning I missed and someone died as a direct result. Sometimes my powers frighten me.
The thud was followed by a slowing down of the train and a stopping, the driver came out and explained what had happened. And then we sat there awaiting a new, non-traumatized driver. And then the tedium set in. There is probably something to be said of the human condition about the way that although someone had just seen no other option than to end their own life, all I could think was "I am hungry." As can be expected, after around 20 minutes the hunger got too much for some people and a few of the older commuters perished. These were swiftly consumed by the younger, faster folk on the train. Then things started to get a little bit Lord Of The Flies.
Factions developed and within another 10 minutes these had regressed into primative tribes, most of which were as you would expect, basic icon worshiping cults. But in the third car a female regional manager of Phones4You dominated and called for the slaying of all males. It was a brutal and bloody time, the women who sided with her were stripped to the waist and 'blooded' themselves with their first kills. I know for a fact that a sales assistant from Boots and two German backpackers who had tragically boarded the wrong train, they were headed for Tamworth Snowdome, died this way. The dismembered remains were slung from the windows. When the women, or 'Phonees' reached the seventh car they were dispatched efficiently by a concierge and an oil rig worker on leave. These two somehow managed to unite the disparate clans and the resulting hoard stampeeded up the train killing any authority figures or dissenters who stood in their way. By this point I had made my way onto the roof to escape their rage and it is with a heavy heart that your correspondent is forced to report that I too had to kill someone. It was him or me. I was panting and chewing on a slain child's finger bones, sucking at the marrow for sustenance when a hatch was forced open to my right. I froze as a middle aged man with hollow eyes and a neck-tie around his head came up through, I knew he saw me as a meal and for some minutes we stared stoically into each others eyes, there was a flash of humanity in his eyes, but only a flash. Then he pounced. I flicked my cigarette at him and, whilst he howled from the pain I drew my lighter. The flame mesmerised him and it was little effort for me to force my thumbs through his eye sockets and into his headshell, fingering his brain. He expired after a minute or so, emitting agonized screams the whole while. The sounds will haunt me to my very grave. I tossed his corpse to the rails and sadly made the sign of the pentangle over him, to speed his soul to Valhalla. An eerie silence had fallen on the train. I carefully lowered myself into a carriage and took refuge behind a rudimentary totem pole crudely constructed from briefcases, laptops, shoulder bags and topped with a Blackberry phone. I inched forwards. Everyone was kneeling as if praying to two men, one of whom I recognised as the driver. I realised that the other man must have been the new driver. He had an awsome presence and I have to admit that a part of me fell in love with him. I, the only standing commuter, walked towards him, genuflected before him and offered him my fingerbone. He took it and a calm befell us all. He turned the air-conditioning on and we all returned to our seats, assisting the wounded and discarding our dead. We arrived at New Street within 20 minutes. Less than an hour had passed but we were all different people and we would never be the same again. With tired eyes, tired minds, and tired bodies, we returned to our respective homes and we wept.


Submitted: November 02, 2008

© Copyright 2022 Heliconx. All rights reserved.

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Comments

shmeepea

this is cracking! really good idea, i wish you had used his ocd as a feature throughout the story, it would've been really interesting with all the gore. brilliant though,x

Sun, November 2nd, 2008 6:23pm

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Thanks for yr comments. I really appreciate it.

Sun, November 2nd, 2008 1:45pm

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