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A hand to hold
AhmadBlues
AhmadBlues
July 7th 2005
I still remember it. It haunts me to this day.
***
Eight forty in the morning. I was due to be at Canary Wharf station in an hour for an important business meeting, but being foreign to London, I was lost. Naturally. The tube map I clutched looked more like a bowl of multi-colored spaghetti than a map.
It was hard to keep my balance, especially with high heels, as whole stampedes rushed behind me as I tried to work out where to go on the maps on the wall next to the platform. I knew that I needed the gray line... but the only line on this map was the blue one. Strangely enough, the other half of the map appeared on the other side, next to the other platform with ‘Northbound’ written at the top, instead of ‘Southbound’ on the one I was facing.
Feeling extremely baffled, I approached a commuter, with a briefcase in his hand, on the platform, in front of an advert. “Excuse me,” I said. The man shot a fleeting glance at me before giving a straight face and facing the adverts on the wall.
I sighed and tried to speak to another one who was closer to the edge of the platform. “Excuse me?”
“Yes?” He looked up from a sheet of paper he was reading.
“Do you know how to get to Canary Wharf?”
“Er - yes,” he replied. I watched his eyes following the train that had just rumbled in. “Change at Green Park, I think.”
“Thank you very much,” I smiled. He was certainly a lot nicer than the other commuter.
The doors of the train opened, revealing an extremely crowded interior. It looked like a cattle train. How on Earth are they able to even stand? I thought. The doors closed, then the graffiti-covered train slowly left the train.
“Is it normal for trains to be this busy? I’m from New York, on a business trip, so I’m not... really...” I trailed off.
“This? T-this is nothing. It can get a lot worse.”
Another train rumbled in, busy as the last. Glancing at my watch, when the bright red doors slid open, I squeezed into the train. Only a few managed to get in.
The doors closed, and the train began to move. It was crowded yet silent. The only noises to be heard were ‘excuse me’s, coughs and sneezes and the sound a mobile phone made when a text message was received.
The carriage was hot and sweaty. I could feel the cold beads of sweat lining my eyebrows. I desperately wanted to vacate the carriage. There would’ve been steam in there, if I didn’t open the windows. Not that there were any that I could open that I saw.
I pulled out a bottle of perfume and sprayed it on myself. At the same time, I saw someone at the far end of the carriage with an incredibly large backpack and very short hair, gazing into my eyes. He couldn’t have been over twenty, although he was extremely tall, having to bend his neck to be able to stand.
He looked away. He scared me in a way. Something... Could it have been the far-away look in his eyes? The solemness in his eyes? It as if a hammer struck my heart, sending waves of fear into the other parts of my body, when he looked at me.
You’re worrying too much, Gerry, I told myself.
I tried to avert my attention to the carriage window behind me. It was dirty and dusty. The edges were covered in soot. Obscene messages and graffitti was etched into the window.
“The next station is Russ–”
Then it all seemed unreal, as I slowly fell into unconsciousness. Sucked into an empty void...
...a blinding flash of yellow light...
...shards of glass piercing my face...
...blown off my feet...
...suffocating under the mountain of people, crushing me...
...suffocating...
...drowning...
...dying...
Then everything faded to black.
***
Where am I? It’s too dark.
I … lay there? I had no idea what had just happened. Perhaps I was in bed - no. I couldn’t have been in bed. What on Earth would all this weight on my arm be? My bedroom couldn’t have been this dirty either. I was... on the floor. I had cleaned it before I left.
Then I realised that I wasn’t even in New York.
It made sense. A large, fluorescent light was shining from far away. It was orange. Everything was blurry and eerily quiet, except for the ringing in my ears. Then, the pounding of … footsteps onto the ground. It came closer.
I closed my eyes and opened it again. I found a vaguely familiar face. Something to do with a briefcase. But its face was too blurry to tell who exactly it was.
“Hello?”
I said nothing.
“Hello?”
This time, I tried not to say anything. Its voice was so loud. I couldn’t even speak. I could feel something ice-cold and smooth being slid across my arm. It was heavy.
Just. Let. Me. Die.
Then I could feel warmth. A pair of warm hands felt my wrist. “Alive.” I was lifted up by what felt like... strong hands. I could feel walking. We passed a wall light - as we got closer it became brighter. As we passed and went away, it became darker.
With each step that the person carried me made, I found my self thinking foot... steps...
Foot... steps... foot... steps... foot... steps
My arms ran along the floor, feeling the coating of the floor–soft, thick, dusty. Then I felt something cold, yet soft. I held onto it. It felt like a hand. I looked at it and I was right, it was a hand. I tried to turn and to look at it. I could only see the hand. Nothing next to it.
I realised.It was ripped apart from its owner.Then, I fell into the dark, empty, void again.
***
I woke up again, my eyes greeted this time by a sea of white. I squinted as the white light hit my eyes. I glanced further down to see two people discussing something quietly over me. It seemed like... like a bed. Their voices were too quiet to hear.
I could barely move any of my limbs. I attempted to move my arm, but it hurt. A sharp pain
pierced it. I sluggishly stretched my arm and grasped what felt like a hand.
The voices were saying something. Something. “Sleep. You can rest.”
It was nice to know that there was someone, however far away from home they were to, would be there for you.
It was nice to know that there was a hand to hold.
July 7th 2005.
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