The Subway

The subway station is deserted at this early morning hour, quiet and undisturbed. Old posters hang limply in their frames, stained with graffiti. The newstand is shuttered, barred, and chained; perhaps for the night, perhaps for good. Crumpled papers and smashed soda cans lay strewn about. To one side, trash cans have been knocked on their sides, covers hanging askew, explaining the litter.

It is cold in the station, the kind of still, biting cold that eats at a person's goodwill and makes them into solitary, unfriendly bundles of imitation fur and flesh.

The rails in the tunnel gleam in the bright, harsh light, and then go arcing into the vast, sable gullets at either end of the platform.

There is nothing here, no one. It is, in a way, purgatory, limbo, oblivion; it is the kind of place where one expects to find the discarded fancies of the past congregating, to commiserate on their lot in life.

Anything could happen here, silently and invisibly, and the world would never know nor care.

No sound can be heard. Nothing moves, except the constantly blinking ":" in the digital clock hanging from the ceiling.

A bell chimes somewhere far above, outside in the real world where time moves normally. Out of the darkness where the platform drops into the tunnel there is a sound like an approaching train.

Down the stairs comes a solitary figure, preoccupied, worried, tired. She is harried, but still attractive as she crosses the platform, intent on meeting the train that must be nearly to the platforms.

From the shadows he comes: dirty, unkempt, sneering. His clothes are already halfway discarded, and he holds something silver and gleaming in his hand. He feeds off the fear in her eyes as he approaches.

She reels back in terror, afraid for her life, her virtue, and yes, her wallet.

The rumble of the approaching train grows louder and louder still.

He orders her to disrobe. She shakes her head.

A wind has kicked up now, and far down the tunnel a light can be seen.

The knife snicks upwards, terrifyingly close to her attractive, fear-contorted face--

It goes flying away, into the debris on the ground, knocked from his hand by something hard as stone.

He turns in anger, lashing out in clumsy imitation of the martial arts moves he has seen on many bad tv shows. But there is no one there. He whirls back, and as he does, something metallic and bejeweled connects with his head.

He sprawls on the pavement.

The train roars into the station, slowing perceptibly from its headlong rush of only a moment before.

She flees to the platform, glancing back at the man lying on the ground amidst the junk and trash. There are shadows upon him, and she stifles a scream at the sight.

Creatures of childhood stories, forgotten for long years, relegated to dark boxes in dusty attics, or rare book collections in university libraries. Figures of myth and legend...beings whose intervention has revealed them to one who had forgotten. One whom they have saved, in the grand tradition of rescuing the damsel in distress.

The train has stopped and its doors open swiftly with the assurance of computer-driven, oft-repeated routine and she stumbles into the cars, staring disbelievingly back at THEM. Just as quickly the doors slip shut and the train accelerates out of the station.

Dwarf, dragon and elf, she will stammer to a friend later, a friend who will respond with the name of a competent therapist who will ?help you to slow down and not work so hard...?

But for now, the shadows slowly fade as they slip back into the darkness in the corners of the station, and down the little known tunnels that lead from the platforms. The grimy assailant regains conciousness and shuffles dazedly off up the stairs to the streets above.

The subway station is deserted at this hour...it is cold...the rails gleam in the harsh light...it is a purgatory, a limbo...a place between worlds, where one might find all the discarded fancies of the past congregated... silently and invisibly...

No sound can be heard.

Nothing moves, except the constantly blinking ":" in the clock hanging from the ceiling...