Saturday: 11:28 a.m.
The 311 crosses The City at a right angle. I know this for a fact. It starts in Picarto to the north and runs south all the way down to Washton before shooting east toward Burbenks. It is the only railway in The City that travels through both the EWR and the RNK consecutively. I always take it.
A straight line—the shortest distance between two points.
That’s the very first thing I remember my brothers saying to me, the foundation for everything I know. I move hurriedly up the narrow aisle of the train and find my seat. Six rows up and on the left. Order. The world only works with order. Without it, everything falls to chaos.
I shudder at the thought and lay my head back against the hard, familiar cushion. This is cold and irritating, as always. I ignore the sensation and close my eyes. Tired, too tired.
The train begins to move forward, rocking gently. My body sways with the motion, lulling me to sleep. My thigh vibrates lightly. Don’t sleep on a train. Opening my eyes immediately, I hastily slide my cell phone out of my pocket. The text comes from Matt.
Where u at?
I reply quickly, missing several keys.
On trian be ther in a sec.
Once upon a time, I would have gotten into trouble for a mistake like that. Careless. I smile and readjust my position. It doesn’t help. It never does.
There are three young children sitting to the left of me two rows down, all of them girls. They argue in whispers, fighting over what looks like an electronic device of some kind. Phone? Mp3? As I watch, the object is torn from the hands of the smallest and shoved roughly into a vibrantly pink plastic purse. There is a good deal of scolding, and everything falls into silence. The action is so reminiscent of my own childhood that I can’t help but grin to myself as I turn back toward the window and squeeze my eyes shut against the glare.
Sisters. I wonder what it would be like to have one. Not much difference, I bet.
To the right of me sits a young boy wearing a blue-green hoody. His head rocks back and forth to an unheard rhythm. My eyes follow the white cord protruding from his hood downward toward his lap where his hands play restlessly with the buttons of a faded CD player. Old school. Out of habit, I begin to count the movements of his neck as it sways his head back and forth to the beat. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.
My head begins to nod again, so I sit up quickly and pull out my phone. Paully Wally. My fingers move expertly over the keys as I send Paul a text.
Justins at 12:30 we having lunch and jbo u be there? Dont forget.
I shut the phone and turn back toward the window, but the reply is almost instantaneous.
Yes, of course. However, I will be late.
I smile and shake my head, thinking up an appropriate response.
I’m so glad you will be joining us. Where is it that you are at this time?
There is no response for several minutes, so I shut the phone and turn back to the window. The sun is very warm on my face, and I can’t resist the desire to once more close my eyes. It’ll be fine. I breathe in deeply, then out, controlling the motion. Relax. My body shifts uncomfortably, but obeys nonetheless.
Saturday: 11:41 a.m.
“Wake up.”
The low voice commands soothingly, and my eyes open obediently. Everything around me is dark, except for the seat directly across from me. This glows softly, revealing the shadow of a headless man in what appears to be a pale green suit.
YOU ARE READING
In the Tears of My Saints
Spiritual"I cry. That's all. And as I cry, the tears fall from my heart and change the world around me. They take pain, they take fear, they take horror and they destroy them. They gather up the bodies and blood, carrying them away toward the pit, flinging t...
