Home late again from another boring day. Lately everything seems the same, all shades of grey. She taps her foot, waiting for the subway to come but knowing that it's always sporadic this time of night. It's the end of the week and most of the people disembarking from the other train going in the wrong direction are heading into town for drinks, dancing and various mating games. All she wants to do is get home. She looks at the board again, the timestamp glowing in yellow-orange dots: 2 minutes until the next train.
Tired of reading or listening to music to block the world out, she turns and walks over to one of the marble benches in the middle of the platform. The day has been hot; sweltering at times. She's grateful that she's been able to spend most of the day in an office building, even if the air conditioning always seems to be set to one extreme or the other - 60 or 80. The night air aboveground is moist and it's settled on her skin like sticky dew. The air in the tunnels is slightly less warm, but equally as damp. Summer in D.C. It's cloying and difficult to breathe without effort, but that doesn't seem to stop everybody else from going out and enjoying themselves.
Only she, it seems, is unable to bear the air quality; the heat. Sweat trickles across her brow, tickling, and she moves to wipe it away with a frown.
"What I wouldn't do for a portable air conditioner." she grumbles to no one in particular, placing her backpack beside her. "Or a fan."
The items in it are pretty much useless for combatting the heat. A remarkably heavy biology textbook, a small laptop and several pens and pencils. Even the notebook she has is floppy and would make a poor fan. When the train finally arrives she breathes a sigh of relief, knowing that most of the cars are air conditioned. The doors open and she steps into the cool air of the car, thanking the various gods of central air and divine providence that something in this wretched city actually works the way it should.
She's lived in and around this area for most of her life, always dreaming of a life beyond - a life three thousand miles away. Northern California. Someday, she thinks, someday I'll actually pull myself out of this swamp and move across the country to where I truly need to be. If only. It's been a dream that's persisted for so long; too long, she thinks at times.
Unmarried and with no children, she likes it that way - she wishes that she could live more like a vagabond, living life from day to day instead of being caught up in the monotany that a regular job and bills brings. She remembers a friend from a time that seems so long ago, somebody she met in another country far away. The tales of their travels excite her and she wishes that she could be that person; that she could take that first step away from what she should do, and finally make the road meet her feet where she wants it to.
She settles in the seat, taking a moment to look around at her fellow passengers. Anything could happen on this trip home, she thinks to herself as she imagines it. The train could wreck in one of the underground tunnels; forcing everybody to evacuate and make their way to the surface. An earnest vigilante could chase a criminal from one car to another, knocking several people over as they proceed to fight right there in the middle of the car. The nation's capitol could find itself under attack as the trainload of passengers pause with fearful breath as they await the outcome. Somebody could attack her, bringing out a frenzied response as she breaks his leg and cracks several of his ribs.
Most of her thoughts have always been violent for some reason that she can't quite understand. She never really has. It's something that she shares with only several other people that she's run across in her lifetime. Some of the people that she's talked with brag; they're all flash - but it's the ones who've been 'in the shit', as the saying goes, that quicken her blood. Petty scuffles and skirmishes aren't what excite her. Armageddon. World War. Raging against the machine of the enemy; that's what stirs her soul.
Her body has never been strong enough to join that never-ending conflict; that one single moment where body and soul unite against a common enemy; working in effortless synchonicity. She has always had issues with breathing and as she gets older, her joints seem to want to give out with more frequency rather than wanting to work properly. She feels like an old soldier that has never had the chance to fight; never been able to engage with a force that needed defeating. It's a cold emptiness that resonates in her bones. A quiet longing. A sorrow of sorts.
She sighs and stares at the map of the trainsystem on the wall across from her. The same old destinations, same 'places of interest'; although very few of them hold any interest for her now. This city feels dead for her and has for years now. She feels grey and unaccomplished, although there are many who look at the fullness of her life and see her as having lived in an exciting flash of everpresent light. She can't see it and hasn't been able to feel much for what seems like a very long time.
"Find joy in the simplicity of life, and there will be prosperity in your soul." she remembers a voice from long ago; a tarot reading given to her by a good friend. At times, she's able to do just that; listening to a burbling creek as the water gently buffets the stones in its path, listening to the trees creak as they sway gently in the summer night. The pleasure gained from a wild animal brave enough to creep up and touch her shoe, to take food from her hand. There is majesty in this also, but she wants so much more.
There is a dark part of her that wants to be let out, to play among the living; but she's well aware that if she ever released it, there'd be no turning back. No taking it back. It squats in her psyche, waiting for the chance to be free; for the chance to truly run and live, but she keeps it well chained and thus her passion slowly dies. There has been no release for her inner passion for many years now and with this quashing of need, of desire, it's slowly twisting into something else. Bitterness. Anger. Disgust. She hides the emotions well, but there are some who see; some who walk on the other side of the street to avoid her, harmless as she may initially appear. And there are those who bow to her as well; the vagrants in the alleyways. As yellow streams of acrid urine trail down the walls, they look at her and bow, still pissing. They see her, when no-one else can.
The train slows as it hits the next stop, and she watches several passengers as they exit; their expressions tired and vague. Do they feel the same?, she wonders as the recorded voice echoes through the car, stating that the doors are closing. She takes another deep breath, then starts at the sound of the doors opening as a tall figure pushes his way into the car. The doors close behind him and she rolls her eyes. Some asshole's always gotta force it. He can't just wait for the next train, she mutters in her thoughts, dismissing it as she goes back to looking at the railmap.
She hears the thunk of shoes on the carpeted metal flooring as the person makes their way towards her, and she wonders if this is the night; if this is event that will change her life. It never is, though. She looks over, out of the corner of her eye and sees that the man; yeah, it's most definitely a man, is still moving toward her side of the car. He's dressed like a stockbroker, black briefcase in hand. He looks very official. She can't help but notice that he's well groomed as she bows her head, looking over at him through hooded eyes now as he takes the seat across from her. Self important prick, she muses to herself. She knows the type. Power brokers and go getters, so-called alpha males that want to play in the shark tank of business, but if they'd ever had a gun placed to their head they would piss their pants in terror. She smiles a little secretive smile, feeling smug and self assured.
He's what society in general would consider almost painfully attractive, but his appearance repulses her. Or - she wants it to. Another should to add to the long list of shoulds. She looks away, anywhere but at him - at this man who thinks he can walk where he wants and take what he wants because he has money. But then, if he had money, why is he on the Metro at 11 o'clock at night?
She hears a chuckle, and she looks over to find him staring back at her, a curious glint in his eyes. His cornflower blue eyes.
He smiles at her then, warmly, and her eyes dart away, checking out the connecting door at the end of the train. Slowly, unable to stop herself, her eyes slide back to look at him and she gives him a sidelong glance. His smile grows wider and he leans back into his seat; confident and sure of himself. He knows he's good looking and is using it to fuck with me. Asshole. Her eyes narrow as she drops all pretense, glaring back at him. He's grinning now, and raises an eyebrow in silent query.
"What?" she growls, irritated that she'd broken the silence first.
His voice is pleasant enough as he leans forward and quietly says, "You think you've got me all figured out, don't you?"
She grits her teeth, not liking that she's so transparent. Not wanting to admit it.
He chuckles again, this time a little louder. "It's not so easy, placing labels on people, you know. Yours nearly chokes out who you really are entirely."
