fiction - brigits_flame - line

[hwango]

Roger did not like crowds, confined spaces, or being underground. Riding the subway mixed these three things together into a loathsome stew that Roger was forced to choke down twice a day on his journey to and from work. It was a small mercy that the endless repetition had managed to dull the pain a little; he was so set in his routine that he barely even noticed his surroundings or the other people in them anymore.

He boarded the Red Line at Ashmont. He rode in silence, reading a newspaper or a book or simply staring at his shoes, until Park Street, where he would change for the Green Line, which he would ride until North Station. Simple. Tedious and irritating, but simple.

Roger was a vaguely aware of a few other commuters who shared some or all of his route. He had ever spoken to any of them, or even exchanged a friendly wave, but they were a dimly-registered part of the routine. Gray Hat Guy always tried to sit by a pole. Blond Woman with Funny Glasses went through mystery novels like popcorn. Cult Leader (and Roger couldn’t precisely explain why he thought of him as such, since of course he knew next to nothing about the man) always smelled strongly of mouthwash.

It was due to the sudden absence of these fixtures that Roger first realized that something was amiss. He looked up from his shoes and discovered that he didn’t recognize anyone on the train. Also, the train looked…off, somehow. Something else was nagging at him as well, and it took him a moment to realize that it was that last announcement he’d heard before switching trains. The station notices were only so much background noise to him at this point, but now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure this time he’d heard the voice say:

“Next stop, Bark Street. Change here for Viridian Line.”

But surely he’d just misheard “Park” as “Bark,” and viridian was simply a shade of green. And the station had looked the same as always, of course. Well, he supposed it had. He’d just sort of followed his feet on their usual route and not really looked around.

Now Roger found himself taking a keener interest in his surroundings, and he figured out what seemed strange about the train; it was made of the wrong things. All of the metal surfaces gleamed like polished silver. The normally plastic seats were made of some kind of dark wood.

Under this extra scrutiny, his fellow passengers became not merely unfamiliar, but downright strange. Many of them had oddly angular feathers, skin like pale marble, disconcertingly pointed ears, and eyes with irises so large that there was no white to be seen. Their clothes were equally alien; there was not a suit or tie to be found, and in their place the figures (the word “people” felt somehow inappropriate) wore things that made Roger’s brain conjure up words like “doublet” or “baldric,” and perhaps even “raiment.”

“Next stop, Bleakbriar Manor. Change here for Melancholy Tears Line.”

Roger flinched at the sound. It was not merely the contents of the message, but the delivery. The old artificial voice filled with plastic enthusiasm had been replaced by a musical whisper that seemed to promise incomparable delights if only he would disembark at the next stop.

The train oozed to a stop so smoothly that it felt as if inertia had been abolished. The doors opened soundlessly, and Roger’s grip tightened on the railing as he fought the desire to get up and join those who were departing. He badly wanted to get off the train, but was even more afraid to do so. Certainly he had no idea how to get back to the Red Line from the Melancholy Tears Line. Better to hold out for the end of the line when the train would reverse direction.

At least, that seemed like a good idea at the time. But every stop brought on stranger and stranger passengers, boarding from ever more alien places. Roger was tempted to get off at the next stop after all and try to reverse direction sooner, but found himself to terrified to do so when the whispering voice identified their next destination.

“Next stop, The Dark Heart. Change here for Shadow of the Eclipse Line.”

Roger decided to wait it out. They had to get to the end of the line eventually, and then everything would be alright.

* * *
As the train slowed to a stop at the Ashmont station, Carol looked up from her mystery novel. She watched the passengers as they boarded, searching for a particular face. No, that sour-looking man who always seemed to be staring at his shoes wasn’t there yet again. It had been weeks since she’d seen him, and he’d been a fixture in the background of her commute for as long as she could remember. Oh well, she thought to herself. Perhaps he had moved, or gotten a different job.

Or maybe he just didn’t ride the subway anymore.

Comments

[gunthersdncemix.livejournal.com]

Tee hee...

Though I have to wonder, have some of my commute stories been seeping into your brain? (Though mine aren't as good... :)

[hwango.livejournal.com]

I have to admit, I thought of some of them as I was writing this, and wondered if that's where part of the core idea came from. = )

[bluegerl.livejournal.com]

Pts to icon. Still waiting in case Roger finds his way back!!! oh lordy, how often have I felt that.... did you? do you? sit on a familiar old seat,see the same faces, and then...

Oh lord. I do hope Roger is safe, or having a marvellous adventure...

Hwango you are rotten again, I LOVE your stuff, it always makes me - have thought-visions.... now I have to go 'searching for Roger.' Ah, a bunny bites....

Bless you, tis still dark but not as bad as the first ones read today.

Old Blue.

[hwango.livejournal.com]

Poor Roger. We can only hope that he manages to find his way back somehow.

I didn't set out for this to be quite as dark as it ended up. I'm having a little trouble conjuring up the whimsy lately. Glad it still entertained.

[bluegerl.livejournal.com]

It seems very strange lately, everyone seems to be infected with the dooms and glooms. The whole world is all 'en inverse' as we say here, and even the weather is abominable. ABOMINABLE!!! Merde and all that! And almost everyone on Lj seems to have the downs. Life is 'heavy, dark, difficult, not sleeping, can't write.' all those normally accepted happenings from almost every poster on LJ.

I must say I do feel light and happy in myself, thank goodness. Divorce decided! Hooray. and good bye to rubbish. But it still doesn't help me to write giddy silly stuff. I do hope this 'collision of the planets' or whatEVER is is causing this misery, I just hope it gets sorted out SOOON. There's too much when things are 'normal'.... Bless and wish you happy whimsyings...

[hwango.livejournal.com]

My brain is indeed an odd place, full of weird thoughts and...um...more weird thoughts? This often fun, but occasionally problematic.

I must admit, every week I do try to come up with some wacky take on the prompt that hopefully no one else used. I almost bailed on this one when I went back to look at the topic post and saw that subway line was one of the suggested uses for the prompt. I just had to cross my fingers and hope that no one else's subway would slip through the cracks in the universe and misplace their protagonist in some kind of nightmarish fairy tale world. = )