‘A reminder to all passengers. The 7:42 train to Melbourne has been delayed 9 minutes. Please remember to validate your ticket before getting on board.’
A chilly breeze ran through the still air, causing most commuters to pull within their jackets just like a turtle withdraws into their shell. A lone observer in the shape of a 15-year-old girl gazed at them with distinction, understanding their cowardly ways.
Society had changed along with the world.
No one was happy and they would never be happy. If they were they would be unhappy about being happy if only to give them something to complain about.
She leaned against the dirty brick wall, ignoring the fact that it had probably never been cleaned in years and with the decline of the area was probably covered in all sorts of substances. But she ignored it. Everyone ignored anything that distracted them from their busy lives of complaining how busy their lives are.
Of average height, with bangs that inflitrated her sight, she felt she had nothing to complain about. That didn’t stop others. To compensate for their insucurities fed to them by media exposure, they made themselves imitate feelings of happiness by making someone else feel bad.
The feelings were false as she felt no less confident.
They were just rumours. Whispers of escalating proportions, wholly lies and nothing more. The only meaning derived from them was belief.
Gently tugging her dress down, making sure it reached her knees, her bangs drifted freely, tickling her face upon touch. By many she would have been reguarded as pretty, not that she cared. They claimed apathy was the modern epidemic but it was not. Selfishness and greed were human diseases. No other animals reguarded either of these factors.
A slight hum was emitted by the wires hanging above, and the tracks laid below, with the viabrations of the incoming train. She checked her watch. An analog one. One of the relics of the way things used to be. So what if she prefered to live in the past?
The train was early. Strangely. They were usualy late, on time, or cancelled. Due to the goverment and greed, the public transport system had gone dramatically downhill. She supposed that it shouldn’t really concern her and that she shouldn’t worry about things she can’t change.
She should be glad that she’d just get to school on time.
It was art today. The idea of subliminally expressing yourself without anyone noticing until it was too late was incredibally enticing. A gifted artist she always looked forwards to today.
A wind kicked up, the dull and almost harmonic screeches announced that the train was stationary allowing passengers to board. The monotanous commuters, all in black, all the same. Sheep. They flocked towards the doors, wanting to be first in, abandon the children and elderly, me first!
When the rush dimmed, she borded quietly. All sorts of people headed towards their regular seats, while she scanned the area, wanting to choose where she sat, never minding that her preferences may be limited.
There where no other students.
She shouldn’t have been surprised. She was always the one who arrived too early through fear of being late. Organisation was a big part of her life. They believe in order thorugh choas but she believed in choas through order.
You have to plan something for it to go wrong.
The train began, but slowly as if a hand was holding it back, trying to stop it from moving.
No one seemed to notice the quiet, all trapped in their own little worlds with their
background music to their own tastes. They wouldn’t hear anything until they had to. The rhythmic movement and noise was relaxing, it felt natural if only a little too fast. The train was speeding as if it were late.
The clouds moved by as normal, so did the landscape. Trains were definately the way to travel with no traffic. She prefered to walk herself but her school was too far away. They always were. The vehicle was moving faster then usual and she felt inclined to complain about being so early.
It could be worse.
Screaming. The brakes were screaming as the driver realised he’d made a mistake.
The bend was too sharp, the speed was too fast, experience counted for nothing.
The bubbles popped. 7:46
People realised something was wrong. Headphones came off and about a million phones appeared in peoples hands, their tiny little digits and bytes trying to carry the understanding and meaning of the hosts’ messages.
She sat alone.
The beeping was frantic, the train had began to turn on an angle, a low one but it was slowly begining to tip. To make matters worse, there was a bridge coming up and the wheels had jumped the rails, giving them free reign.
Impact, 7:49 am.
Hope. But not for all.
The twisted weckage protuding from the grass like gnarled hands and broken bones. The clashing computerised beeps and music denched the area. This helped the rescue workers who arrived a while later to find all the commutters.
Among the carnage, a lone girl on her way to school lay hidden without a device to help her.
She now belonged to the past.
She had as of 7:42 am.