Astor W. Heinemann
It was happening again. The same feeling of weakening knees, the awareness that control was being lost, reason and logic were now out the window, a tangible innervation that was all too familiar. The stomach was like a flushing toilet and the world all around was spinning uncontrollably. Chance? Destiny? Choice? It was apparently a combination of all those things and more, a culmination of events that would inevitably lead down the same path as before. There is no use trying to find a distraction for nothing else was important anymore.
Train wheels clanking against the rails to the rhythm of the speed. Trees and towns flew by the window in a blur of green and gray as the colors of everything were mixed against the static blue and orange sky behind. Faceless people looking down at their newspapers, magazines and smart phones minding their own private world. You there, with the ginger mustache and green suit, what are you thinking about? Are you on a business trip? Going back home? Visiting relatives or a lover? Are you comfortable? Expensive shoes and fancy fabric on his clothes, Italian leather briefcase by his side. Money. He's on a business trip. Old lady behind him cross-stitching kiddie patterns, going to meet a newborn baby. Sexy blond with the cleavage, miniskirt and cowgirl boots, could be anything, perhaps she is running away from her past? Audition for a record deal? getting a job at a strip club? What's with the constant lipstick touch up?
All these people here, all going places or coming from places, nothing in common with each other and most don't even acknowledge the person sitting right by them. If the train crashes all of a sudden a mystical bond would unite everyone becoming more than brothers and sisters, they become everyone else' savior, but nobody really thinks about stuff like that except maybe that nervous looking middle eastern guy. Of course, he could always be claustrophobic or about to trigger plastic explosives strapped under his clothes.
This ride is bumpier than usual and these seats are rigid and uncomfortable. She looked over again, it's still there. Something has to be done. Does anybody read the overhead advertising? Don't text while walking, great hotel deals, enjoy a nice dinner, the fastest wireless network. That light must be about to go out, it hurts the eyes looking at it flashing irregularly but the vague images outside are somehow worse. Why is it so warm in here? It's not that crowded and it's cold outside. Moving to the other seat might make it go away. These cushions should be cleaner, but maybe they don't ever clean them, the unsanitary bastards, perhaps a quick vacuum during maintenance? A vacuum doesn't get rid of the germs. It must be cleaner over there, but probably not. Where's that hand sanitizer? The toilet must be filthy, it's better to hold it in.
A guy once said that if a girl looks over again within three seconds of the first glance then she's interested. Looks like she is, according to that theory. But don't. It will be bad, very bad. For who? Many miles have been traveled yet there's still quite a few hours to go and nothing to do. A short friendly conversation can't hurt and it will make the time go by faster. It's so boring in here. Dentifrice is a funny word, a dazzling dark dentifrice deliciously demonstrated at the dentist does defer dozens of dental diseases if done decently. It's going to be dreadful. Her teeth are dauntingly delightful. Don't.
It's the smile, they always have mesmerizing smiles. Hypnotic. Smells nice up close, suddenly the cacophonous stench of the rest of the train is dissipated. A charming accent, Tennessee maybe? Nashville she says. A little bit of lace shows from underneath the bright blue shirt and black cardigan as she bends down to scratch her left ankle. Nice ankles, she has one of her shoes off. It would be a good idea to go away before things get out of hand. She smiles again as she comes back up and then turns to look out the window, her long brown her was held up almost hiding that red and green tulips tattoo where her shoulder meets the neckline. That is one nice neck. That smile, she must use a pretty darn decent dentifrice, the kind that leaves that filmy coat and awful taste in your mouth is not so good.
She walks slowly ahead, still looking back, towards the luggage cart. It appears that guy was right about the second look. She has a sexy walk, perhaps slightly augmented by the impending encounter ahead. Her hand is extended back, it's soft and warm. There's that smile again. Almost all passengers have gotten off the train as it nears the last station. A short stomach grumble. This is going to be bad.
There's a warm trickling feeling as drops of blood fall sliding down to the small puddles formed on the floor, they can be seen in slow motion as they splash and make almost imperceptible ripples. Her fleshy thighs are tastier than could have ever been foretold, a true feast, tender and juicy, she must have worked out regularly. Dentifrice that makes your teeth strong is the best kind, useful for moments like this. Ripping out pieces of meat easily, making chewing effortless is better because all senses can be focused on savoring the taste. Her wrist watch marks two forty five in the morning, the station should be near. A vibrating sound comes from her phone, a text message asking if she is almost there.
The toilet doesn't smell as expected, it's still bad, but at least it's clean. It's all those chemicals they use in there. A fresh supply of paper towels is always a welcome find. The breaking wheels squeak and wail loudly like a mournful mother in the night as the train is coming to a stop. There is sure to be a commotion as they open up the luggage cart, it's better to be out of here by then.
They shouldn't smile at strangers, it can get bad, really bad.
Ende.