Heres an early Christmas present for everyone. I wrote this story on the bus to work one. Enjoy :)
Crowded
By
Paul S
Huggins
Jim hated crowds. Every morning he had to face his
fear and deal with the hordes of people waiting for the commuter train. He
dreaded his journey in to work. He knew that one day it would kill him.
He knew that his fears were irrational. When his
journeys were complete, he often laughed at his fear. It did not change the
fact that it gave him physical reactions.
Cold sweat, excruciating headaches and a rabbit
stuck in the headlights stare, to name but a few.
Ten times a week he had to face his fear. Ninety
minutes a day, five days in seven. Seven and a half hours a week lost to his
mind in turmoil.
He stood at the bedroom window gazing out, getting
ready to force himself to leave the house. Monday morning was the worst of all.
Especially after a weekend of being able to choose what he could do. His
decision would have been to remain in his own space.
The rain splattered on the dripped down the window
in rivulets. Jim hated October. Autumn was an indecisive season, never quite
sure if its summer or winter. Not warm enough for days on the beach and not
cold enough to dress like an eskimo.
His mouth and lips were dry as he closed the front
door behind him, despite having just downed a warm sweet mug of tea.
He walked apprehensively the few streets that drew
him along towards his enemy. He fixed his eyes on the circled rail sign that
signified the gates to hell.
Bile started to rise, the taste of his corn flakes
coming back to haunt his taste buds. Cold sweat formed on his brow as he
watched rushing business men filter from all directions all heading for and
entering the open doors to the station.
He dawdled outside before joining them and
swallowed back sickness. He made sure his pack was done up and that the pockets
on his jacket were secure. He tried anything to occupy him, prolonging his
descent to fear. Lastly, he retrieved his rail card from his wallet. He was
ready as he would ever be.
Jim joined the funnel and passed into the bustling
ticket hall. It was busy, individual queues from the ticket machines and the
news kiosk greeted him. He joined the third set of lines heading for the
barriers that opened out into the platforms.
The other travellers scanned their cards and
tickets to gain entry. The edged through one by one. Jim’s card was in his
hand, nervousness welled up inside him. A green tick would appear as each
person entered. There were too many positives; there should have been a red ‘X’
by now denying entry due to a damaged or creased ticket by now.
As he edged closer, he wiped his slick forehead
with the back of his hand to dispel the sweat. There was one more passenger in
front of him before he had to make the entry. The red ‘X’ flashed up, Jim had a
split second of relief. The man tutted loudly and groans were audible from the
rest of the waiting queue. With a second try, he had success. A green tick and
the barrier swung open.
It was Jims turn. His hand shook as he inserted
his rail card in the slot. He let out his held breath as the green tick
appeared and the mechanical arm let him pass.
He moved through towards the platforms and his
nemesis, the crowds. Everybody looked the same. Black suits, briefcases with
brollies or rolled up newspapers under his arm.
Jim was the odd one out as always. His shimmery
green bomber jacket, backpack and beanie hat set him out in the crowd like a
sore thumb.
He blinkered himself and jostled through towards
platform three. The crowd closed in on him. Indistinct faces passed quickly
from all directions. Every person in the crowd looked the same. They all
ignored him and seemed to look through him.
Claustrophobia now added to his fears. He had
never been at this station when it was so busy. He glanced up and saw the
platform number suspended from a girder. It was Platform 3. The crowd now felt
like a single organism, moving and pulsating. The crowd’s quest was to crush
his life. He was held so tight he had to sway with them; he could not even lift
his arms.
Panic started to well up from depths of his gut.
He began to hyperventilate. Jim pushed hard trying to make space for himself. The
crowd seemed to pack even tighter. He saw space. He pushed on making the gap
wider. Then he was free. Momentum kept him moving across open concrete and then
into open space, falling. A bright light hurried towards him in mechanical
precision, then nothing.
The platforms were empty of people. The eight fifteen Sunday mail train was the
only train, having made an unscheduled emergency stop at platform three. The
driver sat in his cab, in shock. His hand was still stuck in place on the
emergency brake. He looked out through the crimson tinted windshield.
Jim does not hate crowds anymore. Jim does not
fear anything at all. Jim is dead.
Copyright (c)2013 Paul S Huggins
