THE CARRIAGE
a flash fiction
At the start, it was just me in the carriage, so I let one rip. Smell of rotten eggs. Lucky both doors were open on either side of the carriage and the smell drifted away in seconds. I smiled. That is the freedom of having a carriage to yourself.
All rubbish from the carriage had been removed, barring a poem left on the seat. I read it. Strange how small words can have a huge impact. Enlightening. Uplifting. For a moment I floated as the train doors closed and pulled away.
Then I read the advertisement above the window.
Are you angst?
I nodded.
Are you angered?
Yes.
How can you imagine living without —
The latest mobile. A silver one. Perfect.
For F’s sake. It’s just a F’ing phone.
I sat back and let myself reminisce. The people who had been in my life. The train pulled into a station. The doors opened. No-one got on. The doors closed.
I slipped off my shoes.
A deep comfort settled in me. I could see the narratives clearly now. I was glad they had been there. I didn’t miss any of them. I knew now it would never have worked out.
I looked back at the advertisement.
I smiled.
Maybe I did need a new phone.
After all — who would I call?
By Shane Ann Connell