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