Thirty One Percent and Charging

by Quinn McGlashan, Mount Stromlo High School

Thirty-one percent and charging, that’s all the information that the phone, held firmly in front of David’s face, had to convey. Blue light spilled over his features as the grot-covered ceiling lamps of the subway station tried their best to illuminate the filth-infested benches near the timetables. David sat alone, the only other person in view being a man wrinkled by age, his head stooped so far down that the hunch in his back seemed almost like a cliff.

Somehow the subway station was filled with noise, even though there was almost no sound at all. It was complete silence, but it was heavy silence, it was a deafening silence. The atmosphere was almost humid with disinterest in the world, and the shadows, so eerie in the underground tunnels, held the uncertainty that made people glad they didn’t know what was hidden in them.

David checked his phone, Thirty-one percent and charging.

Suddenly a voice cut through the silence like a clean knife; it fit in perfectly with the ambience of the empty station but left the freshly open wound it made exposed and bare.

“Train number 101 arriving on platform 12. ETA 3 minutes.” The voice, although robotic, seemed almost homely compared to the dank reverberations circling the underground tunnels.

David peered up at the sign with long streaks swarming it, exposing how brittle the faded plastic was. Through the contrasting light and yellow film, he could just make out the numbers “1 and 2” in peeling black lettering.

Thirty-one percent and charging, yet again.

Screeching noises overwhelmed the darkness, wind swept up all the newspapers and litter, making the once still station now a mess with the city grit that was commonly drifting around in the wind.

Fear surged through David, through his blood, a tight feeling spread from his lower back to around his ribs like a corset being laced. The feeling felt like it was forcing David’s lungs to empty, to squeeze his trembling breath into a laugh, pained and hysterical. His arms became irresponsive and numb to anything that didn’t require force, and his shoulders gained a sudden ache, screaming at him instructions that only his muscles could understand.

But David remained still. He remained silent. And as the monstrosity of rusted metal and vociferous sound burst past, his mind assured him that it would all be over soon. No one with the least bit of sense would have lost this control; this straight-faced fear abiding numbness that subsided in David’s mind on a daily basis was the epitome of what was expected.

The train continued, on and on, the screeching getting louder and more ear-piercing; it was slowing down and so were the distorted cries of pain coming from the breaks. Eventually, the huge, terrifying machine stopped and the blare softened and quieted, but still, the screeches hung in the air, a constant reverberant reminder of the newly-observed silence, the reticence that consumed all comfort and set every little sound on edge.

Thirty-one percent and charging, unchanging.

The mechanical doors slid open, so nonchalant and mundane that it was almost unsettling; like steel curtains being drawn, they opened, revealing nothing much to David’s surprise. But David felt something, he knew that something had changed and it was neither natural nor desirable. The yellow lights of the train, so harsh and dystopian, let out a comforting warm glow in David’s eyes as they spilled their colour onto the stained and filthy tile.

People started to emerge from inside the harsh metal casing; David saw every single one of their uniform faces, but David could see past their faces, he knew they all had a story to tell.

The rush of people and noises overwhelmed the cavernous being of the subway station, once a harsh and empty, dead-cold abyss, now a mess of faces, voices and people. All the dampness seemed to have dried up and left glimmering dew. It was strange as David sat watching people move about their lives almost as ants, carrying things, scurrying along pre-decided pathways.

No-one talked to David, no-one even took notice of his being. But he watched. One woman stood out of the train, no different from the mass of the uniform crowd; her hair was a dirty blond and tied up messily in a falling bun, tears streamed down her face, racing away from her eyes in haste. Just looking at her made David smile inside, but nothing could compare to her smile, her wide and lively smile that didn’t care about anything but smiling. As soon as she had arrived, she was out of sight and the small part of David that remembered her twinged.

Thirty-one percent and charging, as always.

After this, David began searching the crowd again; he didn’t really need to search, he was surrounded by emotion and tales, by all these people and their lives, so natural yet so odd. Just watching people. A group of men with large briefcases joked around with each other, some smiling some even laughing. Their suits and bland complexions were nothing of what they seemed to be, so different from each other but somehow all blending in to be the same. David wondered the secrets and lies that manifested in the large black prisons hauled around by them, but overall decided that information must have been locked up for some reason.

Thirty-one percent and charging. It was almost unsettling.

The late-night trains were never thought of much. These times were only reserved for the squandered of society, the few horripulating souls and those lost in cold and numbness whose breath is always salient and whose eyes are always dark and dry. If there was hope, it was not here. So tightly packed in the subway, people pushed and shoved, the utmost intimacy without even a trace of human contact; while most parts of people touched each other, it was the furthest these people had ever been from one another. At times David wondered whether they noticed each other like he noticed them. He knew this was not the case; those exiting the train were like drops of water in the waves and it was near impossible to watch one for more than seconds. He knew they were absent of one another, even absent of themselves.

Thirty-one percent and charging.

And the light was gone. Almost as quick as they had come, all the people had exited the underground tunnels and disappeared into the night. The rush was no more and nothing filled the immense crater of silence other than the slow soothing creak of train 101’s wheels. Darkness emerged from the shadows and emptied itself onto the once busy floor. There was utter nothingness compared to one minute ago. David became the last chip of paint on an old cracking wall, watching everything else fall away like sleet off a tin roof.

“Train number 126 arriving on platform 12. ETA 3 minutes.” The same metallic voice broke through the thoughts in David’s head again.

David sat still. There was not much to do, his thoughts were frivolous and inconsequential; he knew that he had but only three minutes and not many useful things can be thought in this time.

Thirty-one percent and charging. Still.

The train rolled in, not one person got off. Those in the train were almost unnoticeable, their faces indistinguishable with an appearance like fogged up glass. Room was not sparse. David stood up and walked forward, each one of his steps sending an almost chilling noise around the subway. He stepped up onto the tired train and found a seat; no-one looked up, no-one even noticed he was there.

Thirty-one percent and charging.

He sat down slowly and carefully, stowing the small backpack underneath his seat. The doors closed with rough and jerky movements and through the filthy windows of the train he could see the old man sit just where he sat before. David reached down for the last time and checked his phone.

Thirty-two percent and charging.

David relaxed, the back of his head gently placed itself on the window behind him and his body slumped against the train wall. His breath seeped slowly out of his mouth as the train gently floated away.