I stand at the subway gates. Her train is late. That has me worried. She is a creature of habit, always visiting the subway at the same time every day. What if she decides not to come at all because of the delay? Could I live through the eighty-six thousand seconds that pass between today and tomorrow?
When I first met her, it was in the same spot when I was called to duty by a church minister to get rid of the riffraff that riddled the enclosed space. I was one of the best guardian angels, killing all the specters at the breath of my sword. But, then, she stepped down from the midnight train, her melancholy eyes drawing me in. She walked towards the subway gate…towards me…and the world around me melted into an array of colours and nothingness.
I think the minister shouted to get rid of her but how could I?!
He called her as the most dangerous one but I couldn’t see why.
I think he sighed, “Not this one too,” but couldn’t care less.
Since then, for Almighty-knows-how-many years, I stand rooted in the same spot waiting for her to step down from the midnight train and walk towards the subway gates–towards me–like the hundreds of other specters before and after me.
(Author’s note: I saw this picture on Unsplash by Andrew Ling and it spoke to me. All I wrote is what the picture breathed into my ears.)
Short Stories | Fish-eye Perspective 