A forgotten short short story

Chazz Michael Michaels

I don't write much, and it probably tells, but I came across an old doc that I wrote while on a train journey about four years ago. I completely forgot about it. I'd like to share it, and see what people think.


Part One

That familiar sound draws me towards my next destination, like a moth to the flame. A double monotonal symphony, twice repeated. Her beauty is matched only by her grace. My heart begins to race faster as my feet match its pace. A sudden stop. Time stands still. 

She responds:

'Just jumped on Luas. Home in 20.'

'Home in 20'... Cowper Station. A turn to the East will carry her to Milltown, to the West, Cowper Road and Rathmines. I bet she turns East. Collectively, we jerk backwards as we attempt to resist this force with a reciprocal lean. We succeed at this, in a beautiful unison. Some individuals close to us fail in a similar venture and I can't help but assume our success to be a direct result of our bond. Our illusory embrace is interrupted.

Text reads:

'Ok. Soup in the fridge for you. Just pop into microwave and heat for 5 mins. I will be back at 8. Love you.'

She rolls her eyes upon completing the reading, though with an ironical smile. Not a boyfriend then... I feel my chest tighten upon discovering this news. A blissful fear grips me. I find my eyes drawn to the landscape beyond the window. I break my gaze for a moment and notice that she is doing the same. I realise that the world appears to move slower in the reflection of her eyes. Time stands still.

She appears distracted by a distant thought, I attempt to read what lays within there but it remains elusive. She will learn to yield to my reading. These things take time, something I have on my side, for now. My concentration becomes blinkered as I too chase memetic ghosts, for we have come to a gradual halt, without my noticing. Cowper. To my alarm I discover that she has left my side. My emotions a permuation of fear and rage, I dart my eyes to all sides but alas, no sign of her heading. I slowly burst into tears, behind the shield of my imagination. How could she leave without me? How will she ever find the escape from the dreams that torment her so? Suddenly I find that my carraige has become a coffin, my trajectory, a descent. The stillness of time has accelerated beyond all meaning. A monotonous voice rasps in my ear. Dundrum. End of the line.

Part Two

I must have spent at least an hour consuming my cereal this morning, as I got lost in my own reflection, within the spoon. A oblong figure stared back at me. Behind him, an almost-infinite horizon. An infinite horizon. Limitless. Boundless. Such words stirred up memories of my encounter yesterday evening. Time stood still. I realise now that this moment had become too much for her fragile heart to contain. She had to escape. But I am stronger than that, and this is why she needs me. This fills the void in which I found myself, last night. I was too short-sighted to have seen it then. I had underestimated my own strength. I won't let that happen again.

The rest of the day is a lucid haze. I drift amongst the individualist collective. Worker ants who all claim to be the queen. But they are nothing on their own. I evade their eyes as I chart my course through this fleshy river. Sweats beads on my forehead as the heat rises, I become both excited and agitated as I approach the green. She will be here. As I enter the carraige I find my eyes are darting around, scanning every face. A rotund, middle-aged woman sits reading the Metro. She sports an odd and dazzling orange feathered scarf. The Metro announces the latest financial scapegoat sent out to wander the desert. We are all ants.

As I am fantisising about this lonely creature, wandering the desert alone in circles, embraced by its brightly coloured scarf I feel a sudden jolt, and I am snapped back to reality. We are moving, and I have not yet surveyed the carraige. I begin to traverse the line that seperates the driver from I, purposefully and carefully. My breathing becomes heavier and a medley of tastes and aromas fills my palate. This springs forth a well of dreams and memories but I shake them off. I must hold firm. I stuggle against this cognitive torrent. Suddenly, I see the world from a shorter perspective. I see my father. My mind reaches for a distraction. Anything. The lady with the scarf. Her strange tranquility seems contradicted by her flamboyance. Her calm seems to infect me, I stand taller now. As I collect myself I hear a familiar symphony. Time stands still. I have found her.

I cannot remember how, but I find myself standing next to her, closer than I should. I can only develop our bond, by maintaining my distance. Her fragrance fills my senses, I struggle to contain my compulsion. I cannot draw my eyes away from hers. She turns to me and smiles. I suddenly feel the urge to vomit, my eyes water as my throat dries. She appears confused, yet continues to smile. I fall backwards. I didn't realise that I had begun to retreat. The train accelarates forward, she fades to black. Faster still, I feel. I look toward the driver in time to see the impact. Everything is shaking now, falling apart. The first carraige becomes a mangled wreck of plastic and steel. It begins to groan, collapsing into itself. The windows display panic in the streets, in the distance, my father watchs silently. The rear of the train, the last refuge, I sit on the ground, with my head in my hands. Through them, I look up to see the lady with the scarf, as she continues to read. Oblivious to this maelstrom of emotional cogitation. Tranquility.