I recently competed in a writing
contest. We were given the first and last line and had to fill in a 1000 word
story within 24 hours. This is what I came up with:
Muted Madness
They laid the train tracks back to front and this
caused a great deal of confusion – you’d think you were on the train to New
York and arrived in Kinshasa, or to Shanghai and found yourself lost in
Istanbul. But the journey was supposed to be half the fun, she thought, looking
around at her fellow passengers. More like half the terror.
Elenora rested her head
against the seat and closed her eyes, coaxing her mind to relax, to allow her
some peace, to let the sound of the rain calm her. Focusing her energy on
breathing, she slowly brought her heart rate to something normal. But a sudden
jolt of the carriage made her cringe. Her slender fingers gripped the plastic
arms of her seat, her knuckles turning white with pressure.
Around her the carriage
on the small train held less than a dozen others. Canadian trains were more of
a relic now. Those who still travelled them either enjoyed the notion of being
on a train or found the cheaper fair between two fairly close locations
appealing.
And then there are people
like me. People who could, if they lost control, be easily kicked off in the
middle of the journey without too much disruption. There were no stations every
so many kilometres in the air. An emergency landing would inconvenience
hundreds of people and make headlines. Best not to let that happen.
Why don’t you want anyone to know about me? The voice in the
darkness whispered. Her body tensed. Her arms shook from the force of her
muscles straining against the fear. Please, no, please. . . she begged her
rational self. Keep the madness at bay. I’m
not crazy! The voice screamed. Oh, but you are.
The insanity that had
started so slowly, started as nothing more than a phrase she thought she heard,
a passing remark that caused her to ask “what?” to the people around her, had
taken on a true form over the past few months. By now it had developed into a
demon lurking inside her mind.
Without warning her arm
twitched and she gasped. How much longer until she arrived? Not long enough! The menacing laughter
followed. She bitterly hated the manic laughter. It mocked her efforts at
sanity, mocked her attempts to fight the demon, and mocked her hope that there
would ever be a time when she could feel normal again.
She looked around at her
fellow passengers. Though they were scattered throughout the seats and facing
front, she couldn’t help but feel exposed in her dark jeans and navy shirt. The
dark colours were chosen in the hope of blending in, and her brown hair was
pulled into a lose bun at the nape of her neck for the same reason. But despite
these efforts, she was certain everyone had looked at her with questions in
their eyes. You can’t mute the madness,
the voice taunted.
Leave me alone, she
pleaded. With shaking fingers she turned her watch to see it was so close to
the time of arrival. If anything happens to these people… she agonised, feeling
a fresh wave of guilt for leaving it this late to do something about the
madness. She had known it so well; studied the signs, been tested on them, and
even diagnosed others with what was eating away at her saneness. But her vanity
had kept her from accepting the truth. What was the saying? “Pride cometh
before the fall.”
Exhausted, Elenora
lowered the tray table and rested her head in her hands. With eyes closed, she
felt a loud bang, as though someone had been thrown against a wall. Her head
titled to the side from the force. Franticly she opened her eyes, searching for
signs of disaster. Her rational mind told her there was nothing wrong with the
train, but then she felt the brutal clash again, this time with more force.
No, it’s not the train,
she realised with horror. “God no!” She cried, aware that the demon was finally
breaking free. She had given it too much time, allowed it to fester, and now,
when she was so close to her friend and colleague waiting for her at the
Halifax train station to take her directly to the Abbie Lane psychiatric
facility, it was too late.
An overwhelming sadness
came over her and she moaned, catching the attention of the other passengers.
As the moan transformed into a cruel laugh, people started to shift from their
seats to the front of the cab.
“Ma’am, are you all
right?” Someone was coming towards her. A large woman with a serious face. “I’m
a nurse, I can help . . .”
She’s not here to help. She’ll hurt you. Hurt you, hurt you. Don’t let
her. Hurt her! “I can’t let you hurt me!” The voice screamed. Elenora’s
body flung at the woman, jumping on top of her and scratching at her face, but
her mind took no part in the attack. She didn’t acknowledge the panic cries of
the others, or the screech of the brakes as the train arrived at its
destination. Too obsessed with the task of ensuring this woman never hurt her,
Elenora’s body struggled against the other passengers who tried to aid the
helpful nurse by tearing the assailant off her. She fought them with the fear
of a trapped animal and howled like a wounded one.
In the chaos, a familiar
voice shouted her name, a familiar face floated before her eyes, but she only
gnashed her teeth at his attempts to have her recognize him. And then a prick
in her shoulder.
Slowly the demon coiled
into a dormant darkness. As Elenora retreated into unconsciousness, she gave
into a profound despair that she may never be herself again. Before closing her
eyes against the turmoil, she looked out the train window. Rain dripping from
the rusty gutters made a curtain between the platform and the tracks.
