The Routine

Inspired by the short-stories of Tapan Hosekri, this is my first attempt at short-story writing.

The Routine

The jerk of the train wakes me up as it leaves the carshed. I assume it's our first THANE-CST local for the day mainly because it's still dark and the dogs aren't done barking for the night. Several heads barge into the compartment, their thuds trying to subdue the screech of the halting train. Shuttling eyes hunting for thier "spots", stop even before the train does! The drowsy heads then settle into their 'positions' within minutes of swearing, shrugging and sweating. The train pulls out of the station as if to prevent the bogey from exploding. The squeaking handles have already been made elastic.

As I try to breathe, a guy trips in front of me and chooses to bump into the window instead of clinging onto me. I hate that!

The train drags these tons of mass from one station to the next, only to add some more on each. Poor machine! The cluster of baggage dumped upon the rack above me almost chokes me to death. The wind from the window below is the only relief. The ripe elderly flinches away from me as he almost grabs onto me while getting up. He grabs the window rails instead. Am I so useless?

The train finally pulls over at the den on the CST platform to puke the flesh out. The racks above me are now empty and the seats are scarcely occupied. For the zillionth time I hear the cheesy giggles of two college kids as one of them reads the sign beneath me aloud to enjoy the stupid pun,"TO STOP TRAIN, PULL CHAIN."

"Newbies...," I shrug.