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The 5:45

This was my attempt at a minimilistic style. It was pretty fun to write. Take from it what you will

The 5:45

By: Cameron White


The boy who sold her the ticket had large green eyes and a furrowed brow. His bright teeth shone when he talked. “That’ll be thirty-five dollars and eighteen cents.” Of course, of course. She handed him the bill. His mouth twitched slightly, and he counted back the change. “Have a nice day.” Of course. He wore a white and green uniform with a shirt that wasn’t buttoned at the top button.

The station was large and sterile, lacking any true hues. Only grays and muted blues. She held the ticket to her breast and stood as people surged about her. She stood for a long time. The constant and unrelenting undulation of people throbbed in her ears.

She took several steps towards one of the multitude of phone booths placed around the station. The buttons were sticky from years of use, and the tone on the other side was distant, far away. Coins went clink into the machine. Buttons were pressed. The face plate of the phone box was water-spotted but she could see her reflection. One ring. Two. Three.

After a long time she hung the receiver up. Her change dropped to the slot at the bottom of the machine, and she picked it up and put it back in her purse. She looked at the giant station clock. Its hands were made of ornate metal.

Five o’clock.

She would be going in less than an hour. Less than an hour. She closed her eyes and let the mass of people glob around her. She swayed back and forth. Her decision was made; she would find bliss with the 5:45 train.

She opened her eyes. A young boy, dressed in red, with big blue eyes and dark hair, screamed aloud. He tried to break free from the of grip his mother, who held him with an iron fist. Sparkling tears streamed from his face as he grasped towards the open air with his free hand. The mother held him tightly, and with clenched jaw pulled him forward with the throb of the crowd.

She looked at the boy and his mother for a long time.

The giant minute hand of the clock clicked into place, and she realized it was almost time. She moved closer to the platform, crowding ever closer to the mob, smelling their stink, and becoming part of it. Voices drifted in and out of existence, a constant drone. She could hear the train as it approached the stop. She closed her eyes and stepped towards it as she felt the squeal of the brakes.


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