Passenger

• Cleo Wee, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2017

The clean, morning air fills my lungs and clears my head. There was something pleasantly rejuvenating about it; the air smelt like a blank slate, the dewy scent of a new start. A revitalising shot of it along with the warm, creamy aroma wafting from the warm cup of coffee snuggled in my hand hurtles up my nostrils, washing away the weary precedents of yesterday.
As I walk along the long platform that gazed fondly down at the silvery-grey stream of ballast intricately braided with steel rails, I couldn’t help but notice how mesmeric the station looked. It’s red brick wall, held together with thick plaster and rich history, shines a warm, rusty glow over commuters as slivers of sunbeam ricochet off the gracefully-aging bricks in a beautiful entropy of light. Graceful rays of sun slide through the slanted high windows of the train station, illuminating the golden flecks of dust that floated by.
A low rumbling in the distance slight causes the silvery pool of ballast to ripple and jitter in a staccato dance. Individual stones jostle around in excitement, as the gleaming train glides into the station with feline grace, coming to a halt.
The doors of the train slide open with a euphonic silence. I step into the refreshing coldness of the carriage, find a seat, put my beloved briefcase down. My worn, leather briefcase, impregnated with papers and ideas, projects and potential. My hands twist and writhe together in excitement, like a pair of lovers in ecstasy, as I anticipate the day ahead. The doors slide shut after a boisterous “ding!”. The engine of the train purrs and stretches, the cat awakens from it’s short nap. The sleek train slowly pulls out of the station, and, finally, I was on my way.