The fluorescent tubes greeted me with flickers as I let my feet carry me down the stairs at a heavy pace. My hand flowed atop the round railing, guiding me into the belly of the beast more certainly than my unobserving eyes. A late train howled through the station, washing me in stale wind that smelled of sickly sweet machine oil.
At this hour, the electric hallways were cavernous and empty, consuming the cacophony created by the humming of the lights. To tread the dirty yellow line was to tempt the insatiable darkness where only the mice had room to scurry. Would it swallow me if I turned my back at it? In my mind, I began to compose a requiem when an ethereal noise caught my ear. My focus stirred. Curiosity got the best of me and I ran across the platform, spirit salivating for the source of the somber tones.
The echoes led me down halls I had never explored; though the path was beaten there were no signs of life. I soon reached the hub where all halls converged and the echoes got short, for I had found the source of the sound. A man in a tattered olive jacket and sky-blue jeans was seated against a wall, wailing an offbeat lament through a battered horn. His song was perhaps more beautiful against the contrast of his broken look. I walked up to him silently, unheard against the voice of the trumpet. His fingers seemed to walk a path his feet could not, gracefully across the horn’s pistons through the hidden world his lips were forming before his closed eyes.
I closed my eyes as well, hoping to catch a glimpse of what he saw. I got restless quickly and spread my eyelids open again, surveying his creased face and furrowed brow. Sympathetically, I felt around my pockets for spare change and found only a quarter. I withdrew it before I noticed the decrepit man had no receptacle for the change. As I moved to return the coin to its pocket he stopped playing; mid-note. His eyes opened and he looked at me. The pupils of his eyes were milky white, but he stared at my face and I felt as if though he could see me clearly. I stared back silently for the brief eternity it took him to dismantle the dark landscape in his mind, then he held the horn back up to his lips and played a happy tune.
At this hour, the electric hallways were cavernous and empty, consuming the cacophony created by the humming of the lights. To tread the dirty yellow line was to tempt the insatiable darkness where only the mice had room to scurry. Would it swallow me if I turned my back at it? In my mind, I began to compose a requiem when an ethereal noise caught my ear. My focus stirred. Curiosity got the best of me and I ran across the platform, spirit salivating for the source of the somber tones.
The echoes led me down halls I had never explored; though the path was beaten there were no signs of life. I soon reached the hub where all halls converged and the echoes got short, for I had found the source of the sound. A man in a tattered olive jacket and sky-blue jeans was seated against a wall, wailing an offbeat lament through a battered horn. His song was perhaps more beautiful against the contrast of his broken look. I walked up to him silently, unheard against the voice of the trumpet. His fingers seemed to walk a path his feet could not, gracefully across the horn’s pistons through the hidden world his lips were forming before his closed eyes.
I closed my eyes as well, hoping to catch a glimpse of what he saw. I got restless quickly and spread my eyelids open again, surveying his creased face and furrowed brow. Sympathetically, I felt around my pockets for spare change and found only a quarter. I withdrew it before I noticed the decrepit man had no receptacle for the change. As I moved to return the coin to its pocket he stopped playing; mid-note. His eyes opened and he looked at me. The pupils of his eyes were milky white, but he stared at my face and I felt as if though he could see me clearly. I stared back silently for the brief eternity it took him to dismantle the dark landscape in his mind, then he held the horn back up to his lips and played a happy tune.
i've written a couple of these prosey short city stories and i'm always adding more, thinking of maybe putting them together as a collection and seeing if anyone will publish em!