The Arrival

An autobiographical story, Part 1

Photo by Richard Tao on Unsplash

The platform is empty.

I look to my left down one end, straining for a couple of seconds as my eyes have difficulty focusing in the unpleasant phosphorescent light. I feel the rushing cool air of the night being brought down the tunnel.

I turn my head right.

Several paces away from me an escalator is working, steel step after steel step churning mechanically up towards a city I do not know.

It’s a city that I only know by name. I've heard it’s one with millions of people, whose millions of different lives are happening beyond those very steps.

I don't see any of them yet. Down here, it’s empty.

Just me.

I stand on the platform, still not yet knowing what to do next.

The weight of my bag which hangs over my shoulder is now digging into me, so I let it slide down my arm, my hand holding onto the strap. All that I own in this moment is in it.

I hear a sharp, distant, whistle.

Behind me the big steel wheels slowly get into motion, grinding on the tracks as the train that brought me here disappears into the darkness of the tunnel.

I watch the two red lights on the last carriage until they are gone, and for a brief second wonder what the hell I’m doing here.

I’m now conscious of the adrenaline rushing around my body, making me nervous. I become all too aware of the pounding in my chest.

If I let myself be taken over by this incessant thumping, if I slip under its spell…

I cannot let that happen so I reach down to pick up my bag.

It feels very heavy.

I hate to admit it but I know that it’s another weight, one found in the furthest depths of my being, that is really weighing me down.

I know it’s the deep seated annoyance that despite everything, I still experience such pangs of anxiety, and I wonder if they will ever go away.

The noise, which I hadn't really noticed before, of other trains in faraway tunnels, is deafening and unpleasant.

I know there exists quiet spots in this world, but they are hidden, well hidden, and it’s up to me to now find one.

I quickly scan the floor around me and walk with defiantly unbalanced steps towards the escalator.

I don’t walk up it, like I usually do. This time, no one’s waiting for me.

Tilting under the weight of my bag, I readjust my hand on the rubber bannister and glance back at the empty platform below.

From this height it looks completely different. The tracks, the lights, the sound; they no longer have control over me.

What was completely unknown to me a few minutes ago now looks somewhat familiar, and I almost feel a tinge of sadness at my hasty departure.

I turn to see the metal steps ahead of me disappear back into the ground. A new sight welcomes me.

I suddenly feel like a wave has just crashed down from its apex and has covered my disjointed thoughts into wet glistening sand that is now compact, unified and makes complete sense.

I now know what to do next.

I get off the escalator and head for the exit.

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Sharing this is a bit of an experiment for me so I’m curious to hear what you think.

Do you enjoy reading or writing fictional/narrative stuff like this?

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