Under | Ground
He opens the door with his elbow. Turns the taps with the sides of his hands.
Scrubs. Scrubs. Scrubs.
Until skin is raw and soul is clean.
Puts on his uniform. Adjusts the collar. Polishes the buttons with a disposal antibac wipe. Makes the required checks, the required number of times.
Heads for the Underground station.
Down.
Down.
Down.
Into the bowels of hell.
He sits in the cabin. A mole moving through the tunnels.
Cha-cha cha-cha, Cha-cha cha-cha, says the sound of the tracks.
Sparks fly like fallen angels in the night.
The drone of the auto-voice as they approach the station.
Always the same.
The woman on the platform.
Will she jump?
He braces.
Always the same.
***
She makes the sandwiches for Sophie. No butter. Crusts precisely cut.
Makes the meal for Cliff now. No time later. Cottage Pie, it’s Thursday.
Quickly showers. Changes. Changes again, the other mums notice repeated outfits in the same week.
Timesaving techniques employed to achieve maximum impact with minimal time.
Run to the Underground.
The oh-so-slow passengers. She shouts at Sophie if only she’d been quicker packing her bag.
She never listens.
Always the same.
On the return, she straddles the edge of the platform.
The train approaches.
Always the same.
Source: Flash! Friday: Vol 3 – 28 | Flash! Friday
—
Although this story didn’t place, I used it as a rehearsal for a character in my début novel.
Metropolitan Dreams 