The Subway Chapter 1

She stood there, staring blankly at the rusty tracks of the subway, listening intently for the sound of the next train coming. She heard the train on the tracks behind her approaching and wondered what it would feel like if she jumped out in front of her own when it finally got there, whether being crushed by the large machine would be more or less painful than just getting on it and doing whatever boring shit it was that she was supposed to be doing with her life. She inched closer to the tracks and gasped silently. There, wedged between the closest track and the wall was her own head, bruised and bloody beyond reckoning, staring up at her through the slit of one eyelid. She stared at it, marvelling its quiet, peaceful condition. Imagining the pain that would be no more if it really were her head down there. But she felt pity too, pity for the head, in its peaceful rest. The next train would come soon and disturb its positioning. It was in its final resting spot. It should not be bothered. Not after what it had been through. It would be a disgrace for it to be disturbed… So there was only one thing she could do. She lay on her stomach, her bare skin touching the cold tiles of the floor, and she reached out to gently remove the head from its spot next to the tracks. But her hand moved away from it suddenly and she felt nauseous as sickeningly pale arms closed in around her waist. She scrabbled and scratched at the man, trying to get away and managing only to fall to the floor and crawl to the nearest corner in the underground hallway, the underground hallway that had once seemed empty but was now found to be full of people. People gaping at the naked woman curled up in the filthy corner of the grubby little station and screaming “Don’t touch me you sick fuck. Don’t you ever touch me again you disgusting rotten excuse for a human being… fucking cops. FUCK OFF” The cop was talking into his radio now, she noticed. She had known this to often be a bad sign and took advantage of the huge space between her and all the sad, pitiable people who were too dumb to do anything but stare in pathetic sympathy at her. She ran. She ran fast. She ran up the subway steps and onto the streets of Manhattan. She ran past tourists and locals and taxis and buses and all the other shit that corrupted and contaminated the already mangy streets of the Bronx. She ran past all the people infected with sanity and happiness and love and sex and education. She ran and she ran and she ran until she found herself surrounded by the comfortable darkness of one of her favourite alleyways of all time. Moss alley, given its name simply because of its walls which were covered in (oddly enough) moss, spreading out along the crumby floor. It was a comfortable place to sleep and therefore a popular place to do so. She poked around the bodies that lay there until she found a spot of vacant moss bedding, and curled up to finally sleep.