Writing Prompt Wednesday: The Commute

As I stand on the station platform, I stare into a glum distance. The snow, falling gently on the tracks, would be beautiful in some other circumstance. Not today. Not for me, and not for those around me. There are worst things, I know, but right now I’m numb to everything, and not simply from the cold. I don’t want to be here.

I’ve trudged through the snow to get here, all wrapped in scarf and hat and insufficient gloves. Pulled myself from bed, dragged myself through my morning routine – brushing teeth, getting dressed, running a brush through my hair. Later, when I’m fully awake and in the main thrust of my day, I’ll regret not spending an extra ten minutes on my appearance, I knew that even as I pressed snooze this morning. Right now though, those ten minutes in bed were heaven.

The tips of my fingers burn from the cold, and my toes crack as I walk. I sigh heavily, and my breath clouds out in front of me, a speechless speech bubble, and still my eyes bore into nothing. I’m tired. I don’t want to be doing this.

Soon, the train will come, and we’ll all plod on. The only spark of energy we have, us commuters, is the hope we’ll get a seat. No such luck. Crammed on like cattle, lined up through the aisle, trying not to bump your arse on someone’s face. Not making eye contact. The sleep is still there, barely; the remembered warmth and comfort of a bed now lost – for the time being, anyway.

It’s only Monday, it’s only work. It’s only my lifeforce running down the drain.

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