The weary clock tower struck, with a shrill chime that clambered through the labyrinths and haunted the laboratories. He awoke with a slight gasp, eyes widening and his chest heaving with every indulging breath, with a trepidation that had him clutching the lavish seat. The gleam admist the lanterns pertubed him, his lashes fluttering rapidly, struggling to ease his breaths. The impalpable ticking of a timepiece measured his regained recovery, an unwelcome reminder of reality. As his vision cleared, he yearned to return within the endless depths of his pedestrian mind again. The train reeked of expectation, with the mere hundred souls that wandered its dormant anatomy, with intimacy dispensed for glory and triumph, each to their own narrow perspective. Past tales of endearment and passion seemed like disintegrated memories.
The man seemed to be the only slumbering being, with not a murmur nor a flinch recurring around. It astounded the neighbouring occupants, their muscles tightening, eyes glowering towards him and youth were shielded. An unsettling stranger diverted his attention, staring so blatantly. It mirrored his own reflection, one he was desperate to disguise and did not aid in deterring the many pairs of eyes that lingered. His face contorted with worry, his forehead creasing and his nerving knack to scratch his arms arised again. Red marks became starkly prominent as the stranger seemed to intensify his stare. He wished for it all to just stop.
The train slowed to another gradual halt, the wheels hitting the track silently. In the many decades of the new era, it had never malfunctioned nor failed them, not dissimilar to any other new contraption. Those that boarded the shared transportation had large thick briefcases and faded polo shirts, with shoes especially shined. They were particularly on the cusp of death wasting their squandered existence, death being an inevitable surrender so feared like failure, with their anguished eyes and quiet resolution. It was not an affair to be associated with as those that strided through the station barely made a sound. The stranger bent his finger towards the widening doors, forcing the man to have no choice but to glance outside.
The first click of a gun reverberated through the walls and the mass of those that they feared most deeply, crowded the archway of the dimly lit station, visible past the widened gap. These uniformed soldiers loitered the few and far mass transportation stations, with much success. The sky lit a pale glow and if not for the visual, it would remain a mystery whether they hit their mark or not, with not a scream nor a cry could be discerned. The shadow of a faceless man slumped to the ground, with whatever belongings he was clutching hitting the ground with a soft thud that seemed like a roar. Those that vacated the general vicinity barely blinked, but their eyes wandered away. The man flinched slightly and sunk low into his seat, praying to success that not a pair of eyes had caught him. Afraid that his languishing existence could lead him to a similar fate of the man that was just murdered, his perception heightened, fidgeting. Through the closing crack, the body lay on the stairs, with those rushing to get to the train brushing past him, marching away into the distance.
The doors closed, intending to leave for their next destination, but not before a piercing yell echoed within the station. It was the regimented troops, forcing their way in. The stranger’s other hand climbed out of his cashmere coat and gripped his bag lightly. The glint of gold prompted the man to visibly straighten and bury his hands beneath his briefcase, clasping it more tightly. These enforcers of law marched in, with their weapons drawn, individuals victim to their blazing, daggered glances. Instinct overwhelmed sanity, gripping their plaques and badges, certificates of declaraton signalling their superiority to those that sat next to them, a regretful but necessary occurrence. They were imperative shields, repelling these troops as they were abiding with the laws. These trophies gestured their contributions to advancing society.
Concluding their search, they glared at the stranger and the man, raising their eyebrows with their palms facing upwards. Waiting. The man’s heart seemed to race even faster, with his white-knuckle dying grip grasping his briefcase, afraid. Deliberating, he reached to unclasp it, but his hesitation had cost him dearly. In a haste, the nearest soldier grabbed him by the shoulders, pining him to the wall, clawing at him, searching. The man crossed every digit he could, praying to the ancient gods, spouting off lies for if only he could live for another day. His briefcase was knocked to the ground in the altercation, and they scoured it as well. Pages that endowed no value were carelessly chucked to the ground, pens and pockets grabbed.
No signs of records, or plaques, or badges, No certificates of any contribution bequeathed to society. The man was exposed, laid bare and dissected to the keepers who would eradicate the average. He glimpsed the flagrant stares that made him seem like a circus animal and those that caressed their trophies with considerable more care. He knew what was to occur. Had seen it and feared it for so long. There was no justification, only his own brain to blame. But the man feared death itself, and fought it, struggling against the enforcer, powered by the looming terror, with a stake at heart. It was no use though, and the familiar gun aimed, his chest beating erratically. Death was nearing. He was desperate, and the glint of gold caught his eye again. The stranger was observing with bored interest, his medal hanging from the bag knocked carelessly to the side. Summoning all the man’s courage, he veered to the left and seized it.
“He is worse than an average being, he is a rare thief! He snatched my hard work away,” he cried, shaking in a performance of disbelief whilst clinging to the cold metal.
Without any hesitation, the troops aimed their guns at the stranger, who flinched in alarm. Murmurs began to ripple throughout the carriage and the stranger raised his arms in defence, a grave error. He had shielded his physical entity but had not defended his greatest shield, his brain. The muffled gun clicked again, and the stranger was gone, slumped to his seat. The splatter of blood mingled with the burgundy fabric and echoed throughout the train. Satisfied with a fulfilled errand, they passed the man again, clinging to the medal, as the train slowed to another stop, and they departed.
The man stared at the corpse, alone. The train was empty, with the individuals eager to escape the body and the man accused of an alarming crime, enabling him to grab the rest of the stranger’s trophies, shoving it quickly down his briefcase, along with his other belongings. He stripped him of his identity, with only the clothes left on his back. Any rising feelings of regret or sadness were swiftly buried, commonly surpressed with the repetitiveness of the several occasions he had committed this sin.
He was, after all, just a man.
