Hi readers, I thought you might need some fiction to take a little bit of the boring out of your week. This piece kind of just… came to me, so I hope you enjoy it. Happy reading!
11:55am and I am running late. I stumble, thankfully catching the handrail to stop myself falling down the stairs of my apartment building. I hurry down onto the busy footpath, brushing shoulders and squeezing through gaps in the crowd. I can’t be late. I need to be on the 12:00 train. Today is a big day. Today, I attend my Uncle’s trial. He is accused of murder and I know he did it. I know this because I saw him do it. I was one of the four people in the room that day.
The man he shot was a high priced, well-known lawyer, Samson Stepping. The news had been flooded with pictures of him. It was a big story. Each time they replayed the story, they showed his distraught wife, Helen, and his little blonde daughter, Sarah, crying on a sofa in a newsroom. I cursed the reporter for continuing to ask them questions, they were both too upset to answer them properly. Even on the television, Sarah’s small face remained as sorrowful as the day I saw her in the room. She had been the fourth person in the room that day. Of course, I knew my Uncle was a bit crooked and I knew his life was different, but until that night, I had not realised he was so evil.
Each and every night since, I had seen Sarah in my dreams. Her blue eyes shone with tears and her scream echoed in my mind. I then saw her father’s lifeless body, flop to the floor, again and again. Every night I wake, I run to the bathroom and vomit and although I try, sleep never seems to come back to me after that. It’s guilt that keeps me awake, the feeling that I could have done something more than just stand and watch. Sarah no longer had a father, and it was partially my fault.
I get to the stairs leading down to the train station, I check my watch. It still says 11:55. I tap the glass and notice the second hand isn’t moving. Darn it, I am sure to be late. By the time reach the platform I notice that, strangely, there is nobody else in sight. For a normally busy train station, that I frequented, it is eerily quiet. Quiet enough that I thought I could hear something that sounded like water dripping. The dripping sound fades, taken over by the whoosh of a train approaching. It is a big steam train, chimney, puffs of steam coming out, bright red, like something you’d see in a child’s bedroom. The only thing was, it wasn’t miniature, it was a full-sized train. Only one carriage of the four it had, opened its door, inviting me in. I board looking around wide-eyed, but still there is nobody in sight. The inside of the train is just as red as the outside, except for the gold trimming on the seats, that matched the golden handrails and poles. The door shuts and it takes off fast enough that I get thrown into the closest chair. My shoulder smacks against the leather seat with the force but strangely enough, it doesn’t hurt much. The speed makes nausea creep into my stomach and makes it impossible to see what is blurring past the windows. It just looks like a hundred colours streaming by. I look away as it only makes the nausea worse.
Finally, it jerks to a stop. The doors open and I peel myself off the chair. I see that I am outside an office building. I know it well. I see my Uncle on the other side of the road, he’s gesturing for me to come with him. I swallow hard, I know this scene. I have been here before, in real life and in my dreams. Before I know it, I am in the room again, I see the glint of the gun, in my Uncle’s belt, concealed under his blazer. The little girl, Sarah, is hiding, peeking out from behind her father’s desk. I see her but I don’t think my Uncle does. My eyes only leave her when I see my Uncle lifting the gun and Samson raising his hands, begging for his life. This time, I know what to do. I do not stand and watch. I launch myself at him, grab his wrist and divert the shot. I feel a thud and my breath gets caught in my lungs, heat and then pain rage through my abdomen. The lawyer runs to scoop up Sarah. His eyes meet mine; I tell him to ‘run’ before I keel over. I watch him dash to the door and escape, Sarah looking back at me over his shoulder. I see My Uncle’s face hover over me for a second or two, then see him exit. I am alone before I fade into blackness.
I gasp, sit up and then try to catch my breath. I look around to see that I am on a train. I look out the window to get my bearings and see that the next stop is mine. My watch ticks away on my wrist again, 12:35.
“Excuse me,” I say to the man next to me. “My watch has been playing up, can you tell me if I have the right time?” He looks at my watch and compares it to his.
“Yes,” he says. “It’s right.”
“Thank you.” My fatigue from nights of horrible dreams must have taken hold of me, sending me into a short slumber. I yawn and rub my eyes.
I jog up the street to the courthouse. I skip up the stairs and into the grand entry hall. A man with a moustache, standing tall and straight, who looks as though he works there, catches my eye. He smiles as I approach, but before I can ask him if the trial has started, he puts a hand on my shoulder, ushering me through the courtroom door. I see my family sitting in the audience, but he does not put me with them. Instead, he ushers me into the plaintiff box and gestures for me to take a seat. I turn around, exchanging looks with Mum, she gives me a smile but her eyes look teary and blood shot.
I was alone in the plaintiff box, but I could see my Uncle sitting across from me, hands cuffed, head down. He didn’t look over. I hear the door open and turn around to see Samson entering the room, briefcase in hand, chin held high and as alive and well as I had ever seen anyone. This was impossible, I had witnessed him dying. His wife and daughter follow him in, taking some seats at the back of the room. He enters my box and takes the empty seat next to me. Giving me a smile and a nod, like we knew each other well. I put my hand on my stomach, feeling an abnormally hard part of skin, I look down and lift my shirt. A huge scar curls across my flank. The judge appears and bangs his gavel to start the trial. Samson acts as my attorney and as my witness, and at the end of the day, my Uncle is taken away by officers.
I stand on the steps of the courthouse in the fresh air. It’s dark now, the trail had taken a few hours. I looked at my watch 5:55, wondering if I was going mad then felt my stomach again. Sure enough, the scar was still there and I swore it hadn’t been when I’d looked at myself in the mirror, before my shower, that very same morning. I felt a pull on my hand. I looked down, to see Sarah standing next to me.
“Thank you,” she says, smiling widely. She reaches into a large pocket in the front of her dress and pulls out a shiny red steam train toy and puts it in my hand.
She smiled knowingly but before I could question her, Helen joins us on the stairs. She leans to me, filling my nose with her floral perfume. She puts a gentle arm around my back, giving a slight squeeze. “Our hero,” she says in my ear, she pulls away then puts a cool hand on my cheek for a second.
“Come on, darling,” she says. “How about we take Daddy to his favourite restaurant for dinner?” Sarah nodded, giving me one last look at her stunning eyes. Hand in hand they got into a car, which was waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. I could see that Samson was already in there, he waved at me through the window.
I looked at the toy steam train in my hand. Only one question came to mind, did it have power or did she?
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