I’d seen myself there before: the deep dark lines a comfort, the scuttling rats were strange friends, and the anticipation of oncoming lights that would deliver me from the hell hole life had become. I’d been there, her very spot was once mine.
She wanted freedom – for her soul to be let loose from the shackle of its rundown shell; she wanted relief from despair that thrust her awake the moment the sun proclaimed the dawn of a new day, plunging her into a new shade of darkness; she wanted silence – for the voices of her past to quiet, to retreat, to cease.
I saw myself laying there down on the tracks, awaiting the passing of the non-stop fast train to take her to somewhere safer, happier, warmer. And I saw my agitation and pain when she was hauled off, a crowd of people muttering curses against her supposed selfishness, despite her wanting to confirm the death she already knew. And I saw the hollow in her eyes, empty of life, cradled with the yearning to pull the plug from her existence.
She was me, and I was her, and as I watch her limp away, her mind planning another meeting with a runaway train, I know there are lighter shades of darkness, and can only hope she gets to see them too.
© LaYinka Sanni, March 2013.
Written after a day on the London Underground, where one line was suspended due to ‘a person being found under a train.’Advertisements