I used to find train rides so boring. The wifi never worked. The seats were uncomfortable. The food was inedible, expensive slop. I hated that I had such long journeys, but the train was the only way to get to work. I, like many others, couldn’t afford to live in London, but after home working was axed, I had no choice but to head into the office.
Every morning at five, I’d be waiting in the cold, dark train station for the first service towards the city. People often ask why I don’t get a job closer to work, and it used to be that wages in the city were too good to turn down, but now, there is an even more attractive reason to commute.
I have found the perfect way to entertain myself, you see. It isn’t conventional. I haven’t seen anyone else doing it, and I’m glad. It’s my thing, and nobody else’s.
I do it like nobody else too. So unique, with such flair. I’m like an artist. NO. I AM an artist. The greatest artist this world has ever seen.
The things that I can do… the things that I make people feel. There’s nothing like it in the world.
People are starting to notice too. They’re in awe of me, I get it. I would be too, if I were not lucky enough to be me.
My hands are made of magic, and with them, I have made masterpieces.
It all began on a dull little day in December. There I was, chugging away with the rest of the train, barely awake and clutching a coffee for dear life as fields and industrial estates flew past outside of the window.
There was nothing to look forward to. No joy to be had and no doubt in my mind that my life, and my talents were being wasted.
To go to waste is a terrible thing. I don’t think I deserved that.
No, it just wasn’t the life for me.
The carriage was empty, as usual. I’d walk the whole length of the platform just to get the quiet carriage, hoping to have most of the journey to myself, away from the hustle and bustle. As we alighted at another station on the long road to London, he decided to take the seat next to me. The empty carriage cried out to him, but he made a beeline straight for me.
He grinned, giving me a little wave, as if we were familiar, tossing his bag by my feet as he slumped down into the chair beside me.
I fixed my eyes to my phone and hoped that he wouldn’t make it weird, but of course, he did.
Apparently, he’d seen me a few times on the train. I was so pretty, according to my latest annoyance, and he had spent weeks building up the courage to talk to me.
The trouble with those types is that they think that they are the first to throw their bullshit at you, and that they are as charming as can be. If I had found the courage, I would have told him that I’d already been whistled at, barked at, grinded on and groped before he lumbered towards me, and it wasn’t even 9AM.
God, I wish I had found the courage that morning.
He had sworn to himself that the next time he saw me, he would ask me on a date, and with all my heart, I wished that he hadn’t.
I considered rolling my eyes, but you know how those types are. God, I wish I had rolled my eyes. As he slunk closer, squashing me against the window and fogging up my glasses with his heavy, heaving breath, I shrunk, mumbling about a boyfriend in the hopes that he would take the hint and leave me alone.
He stayed by my side, making conversation and making me retch until we pulled into Charing Cross, and as I sprinted off the train and towards my office, I felt unclean.
I took a shower when I got to the office. I’d never done that before, but I was desperate to scrub the morning from my skin. As I dried my hair and changed back into my clothes, I broke down in front of the mirror, consoled by some of the other girls.
They forced me to report him. I knew it would do no good, but the bored looking police officer struggling to give a shit was probably my limit. I was despondent. He didn’t want to help, gave me some nonsense about the cameras not working. He probably just couldn’t be bothered.
If I could find that girl again, scrunched up in her seat, praying for the floor to swallow her whole, I would take her by the hand and tell her that all things happen for a reason.
I needed a push, to become the great artist that I was born to be.
There was only one person that was going to protect me, and that was me. It could go beyond protection, though. It began that way, but now, I know the courage that lies inside of me, and how far it can take me.
I needed a push to raid my kitchen and pack the paring knife in my bag.
It was just supposed to be a threat, but he laughed. He squeezed himself closer, until he was on the chair with me, his chapped lips scraping down my cheek as his icy fingertips found their way up my skirt.
I froze, feeling hot tears trickling down my cheeks, raining upon his hungry lips as he groaned, whispering such wicked things into my ear.
I was pushed, pressing the knife into his stomach and feeling his blood warm my hands. The courage found me, and my hand began to dance, in and out of his guts, up to his throat, and his dirty, chapped lips. I worked to the song of his screams, watching him perform for an audience of one, as the scenery sped by and we got closer to the city.
He was cold by the time we pulled into Charing Cross. I ran from the train, breathless, my hands bathed in blood. Dashing to the office, and locking myself in one of the basement showers, I thanked my lucky stars that London is a busy city full of people who love nothing more than keeping their eyes down and minding their business.
As the day went on, he was all that I thought about.
He was my first. Opus number one, and tomorrow, when I board the train, there will be so many more chances to try out my skills.
It turns out, the officer wasn’t lying about the cameras not working. The city is all abuzz about my activities, but they have no idea who the most exciting artist in London actually is. I suppose I’ll have to leave them something new to talk about.
The knife has opened my eyes. I am awake and I ache for the girl I was before. I must save her, slashing and creating a scene, so that she has something to look forward to.
Oh, God, if only I could find yesterday’s girl and tell her the truth about herself.
I have so much potential, and so many train rides to take.
Sincerely, Jennifer x 