Coalescing

There is a sickening crunch and the world ends.

It takes several seconds for her to realise that she is still breathing and that no-one else seems to have realised. Those members of the line closest to her burble away, unconcerned. For a moment she doubts herself. She focuses intently on the intake of breath. The texture of air. The bitter taste of stale cigarette smoke. The reek of city streets.

There can be no doubt about it, the world has ended.

The girl in front of her talks rapidly into a mobile phone, pointing an accusatory finger at no-one in particular, as she gesticulates her way between points. Looking closer, she realises she can make out individual sparkles in the girl’s over-applied lip gloss. She hates her, but only for a second, before reminding herself that the world has ended; and that now is the not the time for petty rivalry. Besides, that top is hideous.

The line shuffles forwards.

She stares at her feet. Makes a vee, an a, then a vee again. Forces herself to stop. She wonders how to bring it up in conversation, “Excuse me, but have you realised that the world has ended?” The realisation that she will not be able to tell anyone is a crushing weight. Intake. Cigarettes. Feet. Focus.

The line shuffles forwards.

Posted in Textism on Friday September 21, 2007.