Post by Nadir on Oct 30, 2020 17:30:47 GMT -5
The three men staggered down the grimy concrete stairs, swaying like trees in a heavy breeze. The two on the outside, one of whom has extremely angry eyes behind his drunken smile, while having their own apparent issues staying upright, find staying in synch with the even less coordinated movements of the friend they’re supporting even harder. They make it down to the first landing, although not without pinballing off of the tiled walls a few times. It’s the kind of thing that most New Yorkers find amusing, at least until they’re inconvenienced by it and have to switch to the other side of the railing. It stops being funny after that.
The trio reaches the first landing and stops, moving like a small boat on a very active ocean. The one in the center, middle aged with thin rimmed glasses, tries to push his way free. Instead, he staggers violently to the right, bounces face first into the wall and falls back into the arms of his companion who’s closer to the wall. It nearly knocks the other man down, but he somehow manages to remain on his feet and only replies to it with a displeased grunt before he adjusts his facemask. He and his other companion, who has his long blonde hair pulled behind him in a tight ponytail, pull the human trainwreck back to his feet and drapes his arms across their shoulders.
Their trip to the second landing is mercifully boring. The three giggle and stumble their way to the beginning of the platform. They all look up right as the Uptown 4 rumbles into the tunnel. Frustrated sighs become drunken giggles. There’s nothing more to do than wait. The one with angry eyes passes the flask to the one in the middle. He takes a quick drink. Why not? It passes the time.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The sweet nectar of joy wakes you up as it hits your lips. It snaps everything back into focus. It reminds you that you’re not with friends. In fact, quite the opposite.
You’re with enemies.
People who want to hurt you.
People who have hurt you.
People who have tormented you.
People who take pleasure in your misery.
But what is there to do? You’re piss drunk and they’re not. You’re an average man with an average build and bad eyes. And they’re not. They’re both stone cold killers. At least one of them is. The other is an obnoxious and childish asshole.
The three of you stagger forward. Rather, you stagger forward and they mimic the act for the purpose of...whatever their purpose is. The drawback of your sudden clarity is that you smell everything sharply and hear everything clearly. Every footfall, every skittering rat, every drag on a cigarette and smell that follows it, the smell of dirty water in the track beds which is mixed with both the piss and shit of the vermin who live there, whether they’re human, rat or insect and worst of all, it makes the glaring florescence of the overhead lights feel like needles in your eyes.
You’re surprised by the emptiness of the platform. Even at this time of night, at least you think it’s night because you’re far too blasted to tell otherwise, the station should be busier. And yet it’s not. Sure, there are a few people dawdling around. A handful of tired souls who pace back and forth, except for the one guy who appears to be passed out on the bench.
Sleep.
Right now you want that more than anything as your clarity begins to disappear into a fuzzy blur and your head begins to throb. That’s when the high, metallic screech of the wheels scraping on the rails and the high electronic whine of the air conditioning of the incoming train hits your ears. It pierces your skull like a log splitter being driven in by a maul. It causes you to stumble and nearly brings you to your knees. If not for the two men whose grips suddenly tighten on you, you’d by laying on your face on the cold and damp concrete.
It’s a comforting thought right now.
The screech of the train snaps you back into the world. If you can make it to the train, to a seat where you’re surrounded by people, you’ll be safe. You just need to make it there. To the train.
The train.
Safety.
Freedom.
You see the headlights emerge from the tunnel as the head of the metallic snake enters the station. You respond to it with a lurching shove. It separates you from your captors.
Did they let you go?
There’s no time for that. You need to move and move now. You need to be waiting as soon as the train stops. Ready to fall through the doors to safety. To freedom. To home.
You lurch forward, staggering and stumbling towards the train as it slowly approaches you. You see the face of the driver in staggering detail. His eyes are wide with surprise and terror. At least you think it’s terror in them. You can’t focus that clearly, the world is far too blurry as the pounding in your head gets louder. Why does it have that look in them? Everything seems to be moving in slow motion. It’s in that seeming bubble of depressed speed, of a slowed down world, that it finally occurs to you why that man has that look on his face.
You.
You’re about to become his “12-9”.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A few minutes later two men emerge from the subway along with the panicked throng. Their faces match the panic, but their body language doesn’t. A turn right out of the station takes them into the night as the mournful screech of sirens fills the darkness. The night is still busy where they are, but their cadence slows once they get far enough from the subway station. A block later they both abandon their jackets and shirts. The homeless man the clothing lands on doesn’t even flinch. His loud, almost machine gun snoring continues unabated.
Both are revealed to have expensive looking dark polo shirts below their previous attire. Better e for blending into the night with.
A block later they cut down a dark alley.
Once on they emerge from the other side, they cut across the street to a waiting sedan. One gets into the passenger side front and the other slides into the back.
The one in the back turns and looks at someone. Another passenger. Neither says a word. The one who just sat nods. The man next to him smiles a slightly broken toothed grin, then looks forward and with a single knuckle raps on the back of the drivers headrest.
The shot jumps back to an external view as the car silently pulls back out into the street. A little while later it disappears back into darkness.
The trio reaches the first landing and stops, moving like a small boat on a very active ocean. The one in the center, middle aged with thin rimmed glasses, tries to push his way free. Instead, he staggers violently to the right, bounces face first into the wall and falls back into the arms of his companion who’s closer to the wall. It nearly knocks the other man down, but he somehow manages to remain on his feet and only replies to it with a displeased grunt before he adjusts his facemask. He and his other companion, who has his long blonde hair pulled behind him in a tight ponytail, pull the human trainwreck back to his feet and drapes his arms across their shoulders.
Their trip to the second landing is mercifully boring. The three giggle and stumble their way to the beginning of the platform. They all look up right as the Uptown 4 rumbles into the tunnel. Frustrated sighs become drunken giggles. There’s nothing more to do than wait. The one with angry eyes passes the flask to the one in the middle. He takes a quick drink. Why not? It passes the time.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The sweet nectar of joy wakes you up as it hits your lips. It snaps everything back into focus. It reminds you that you’re not with friends. In fact, quite the opposite.
You’re with enemies.
People who want to hurt you.
People who have hurt you.
People who have tormented you.
People who take pleasure in your misery.
But what is there to do? You’re piss drunk and they’re not. You’re an average man with an average build and bad eyes. And they’re not. They’re both stone cold killers. At least one of them is. The other is an obnoxious and childish asshole.
The three of you stagger forward. Rather, you stagger forward and they mimic the act for the purpose of...whatever their purpose is. The drawback of your sudden clarity is that you smell everything sharply and hear everything clearly. Every footfall, every skittering rat, every drag on a cigarette and smell that follows it, the smell of dirty water in the track beds which is mixed with both the piss and shit of the vermin who live there, whether they’re human, rat or insect and worst of all, it makes the glaring florescence of the overhead lights feel like needles in your eyes.
You’re surprised by the emptiness of the platform. Even at this time of night, at least you think it’s night because you’re far too blasted to tell otherwise, the station should be busier. And yet it’s not. Sure, there are a few people dawdling around. A handful of tired souls who pace back and forth, except for the one guy who appears to be passed out on the bench.
Sleep.
Right now you want that more than anything as your clarity begins to disappear into a fuzzy blur and your head begins to throb. That’s when the high, metallic screech of the wheels scraping on the rails and the high electronic whine of the air conditioning of the incoming train hits your ears. It pierces your skull like a log splitter being driven in by a maul. It causes you to stumble and nearly brings you to your knees. If not for the two men whose grips suddenly tighten on you, you’d by laying on your face on the cold and damp concrete.
It’s a comforting thought right now.
The screech of the train snaps you back into the world. If you can make it to the train, to a seat where you’re surrounded by people, you’ll be safe. You just need to make it there. To the train.
The train.
Safety.
Freedom.
You see the headlights emerge from the tunnel as the head of the metallic snake enters the station. You respond to it with a lurching shove. It separates you from your captors.
Did they let you go?
There’s no time for that. You need to move and move now. You need to be waiting as soon as the train stops. Ready to fall through the doors to safety. To freedom. To home.
You lurch forward, staggering and stumbling towards the train as it slowly approaches you. You see the face of the driver in staggering detail. His eyes are wide with surprise and terror. At least you think it’s terror in them. You can’t focus that clearly, the world is far too blurry as the pounding in your head gets louder. Why does it have that look in them? Everything seems to be moving in slow motion. It’s in that seeming bubble of depressed speed, of a slowed down world, that it finally occurs to you why that man has that look on his face.
You.
You’re about to become his “12-9”.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A few minutes later two men emerge from the subway along with the panicked throng. Their faces match the panic, but their body language doesn’t. A turn right out of the station takes them into the night as the mournful screech of sirens fills the darkness. The night is still busy where they are, but their cadence slows once they get far enough from the subway station. A block later they both abandon their jackets and shirts. The homeless man the clothing lands on doesn’t even flinch. His loud, almost machine gun snoring continues unabated.
Both are revealed to have expensive looking dark polo shirts below their previous attire. Better e for blending into the night with.
A block later they cut down a dark alley.
Once on they emerge from the other side, they cut across the street to a waiting sedan. One gets into the passenger side front and the other slides into the back.
The one in the back turns and looks at someone. Another passenger. Neither says a word. The one who just sat nods. The man next to him smiles a slightly broken toothed grin, then looks forward and with a single knuckle raps on the back of the drivers headrest.
The shot jumps back to an external view as the car silently pulls back out into the street. A little while later it disappears back into darkness.