Shorts

Let me out.

They won't let me out of here. 

I counted sixty of us here but I know there must be more in the shadows.

A few are old; tired and weak. Some are young. The young don't look much different. We are all exhausted. 

It is filthy and the smell is indescribable. There is no food, no water. There is no toilet. It feels like we have been here for a lifetime. It was our choices that led us here.

Something brushes against my back, gentle fingers of ice trace a path from my neck to my shoulder. I shudder. The woman beside me tries to sleep but sleep won't come, not for her, not now.

We are underground. 

Sometimes there is light. In those brief seconds we blink and look around, trying to observe each other without making eye contact. Some simply stare at the floor. 

We pass from darkness into light and suddenly I hear it. The chime. The announcement. The next stop is mine and I'll be off the train.