Welcome to my latest category; writing corner. To catch up please go read this page — https://butterflyfingers.com/writing-corner/ It will explain what this category is about. Now that you know what’s what, thank you so much for reading. This is my first story for this category and I’m beyond excited for this new concept. Please enjoy!
PS All of the chapters will be the first draft. If you see any mistakes (grammar and spelling mistakes that slips through) please comment down below. I want to improve my writing and I will take all the help I can get.
My routine is painstakingly ordinary. Every day is the exact same thing. I wake up five minutes before my alarm, get dressed and run to the train. I catch the same train every single morning and then spend seventy five minutes starring at my fellow passengers or out of the window wishing that it could still be the weekend. I’m anything but a social butterfly. I live alone in my little apartment on the seventh floor with my cat, Fluffy. I might not have friends or a partner but I have a sense of humor to get me through. My cat is a Sphynx cat or in everyday language, the hairless cat that looks like a large rat. I used to worry my parents growing up. I was that child who would lock herself in her room and spend hours reading or watching TV shows. I like my own company, heck I prefer it. My parents were convinced I would turn into some crazy cat lady or a serial killer. At the moment my boredom with life and hatred for other humans has yet reached the point of the latter. Contradictory to my mother’s belief, I get lonely. Just because I don’t enjoy social interaction doesn’t mean I don’t miss it. Well it applies to certain degree. I don’t understand myself sometimes.
Being forced to surround myself with strangers 75 minutes or 150 minutes in total every single weekday has been quite an interesting experience. I always find myself wondering; what’s their story? Where do they come from? What are they thinking? What are they feeling? Where are they going? As I seriously doubt they would answer these questions even if I somehow magically get the willpower to ask. I create my own world for them. I answer my unsaid questions. For 75 minutes I create their entire life; past, present and sometimes future. Once I reach my destination their stories ends. In my head they no longer exist. The train ride back home I will pick another fellow passenger that catches my attention to create a story for them. For the next 75 minutes their world is mine to shape. This morning was no different.
I wake up before my alarm and stare at my roof for five minutes, my mind reeling with everything but nothing in particular. Fluffy curls up in my hair and gives a little grunt. He always feels the need to voice his disappointment about my early rise. Finally my alarm blares its wake up call catching Fluffy of guard who in returns claws at my neck in fright. He then angrily leaves the bed while I use pure willpower to drag myself out of bed and fight the urge to press the snooze button. I get the usual sting in my eyes as I put on my bedroom light. I then begrudgingly proceed to pull of my layers of clothing only to replace it by another set of layers of clothing, more presentable of course. If only society and my work place would accept my singing cat pajamas as proper attire. Once dressed I drag myself to my bathroom to splash cold water in my face and to brush my teeth. I comb and style my hair and by styling I mean a side braid my left side and just leave the rest alone. I then moisturize my dry face with my favorite day cream. Around this time my second alarm for the morning rings. Before leaving the bathroom I give myself one spray of strawberry scented perfume. Once in the living room I hastily pull on my shoes, stock up my bag with my lunch and laptop, check Fluffy’s food and water supply before giving him one kiss goodbye and then I’m off. Putting on my usual morning playlist as I take the stairs down. The elevator has been broken for two years. I hiss like a cat when the cold air nips at my face before sprinting to the train station fifteen minutes away. I could probably time out my morning travel better but honestly my morning sprints is the only exercise I get and I have to balance out the pizza somehow.
I check in, slide through the herd of people to my train line, take the stairs and catch my train with one minute to spare. Luckily my stop is the first on the train route so without a doubt there is a chair available somewhere. Throughout the last two years I’ve managed to get the same chair every morning. At this point they should just reserve it for me. It’s at the back of the cabin in the right-hand corner. It gives me the perfect vantage point. It gives me the perfect opportunity to choose my next character.
It takes me one stop, five minutes into my train travel time to find the right character. This morning it’s a young women with long blonde hair. Her face is flushed – she must have ran for the train. A frown is etched deeply on her face. She is worried about something. I can run with that. I open my laptop, change my playlist to my usual jazz station, and just let inspiration guide me through her life.
It’s been a constant strings of downs recently. Something happens that completely knocks me off my feet and just as I think I can deal with it and start moving on from the blow, something else happens. It’s like I’m trying to swim against the current in the ocean. Just as I move two inches ahead, a wave or a strong currents knocks me right back. Heck sometimes its pulls me under and by pure willpower I manage to get back above water. With every knock my body grows weaker. I’m getting tired. How long I can keep swimming is completely unknown. I can feel that I’m close to my breaking point. A complete mental breakdown is in my foreseeable future. That’s for sure.
These past three weeks has been the worst three weeks of my short life. First my grandmother died. It didn’t catch my off guard, she was a very old and frail women but damn do I love her so much. I still can’t completely wrap my head around the fact that she’s no longer around. She’s always been there for me. I have to fight back the tears at her memory. She will be missed that’s for sure. Not even three days after she passed in her sleep, I got my test results. Five hundred and sixty seven points. I failed my exam by three fucking points. Three points. Yes that is three ones. The fact that it would take me three months to retake the exam and what this delay means for my job just finished the knock with a big red cherry on top of the shitty cake life is currently baking for me. I’m not a superstitious person but it’s safe to say that three isn’t my lucky number. Three days after my results came online I got post in the mail. The downstairs apartment heater burst. When repairing the pipeline the repairman discovered an underlying problem which would mean the entire building heater pipeline needs to be fixed. It basically means a month at best without any heat and construction workers throughout the entire day. They tried to lessen the blow by lowering our rent but it stills sucks. It’s fucking freezing and a proper heater is ridiculously expensive. It sure as hell doesn’t help that they need to put the electricity off in the entire building while working on the pipeline which basically means whatever food you have in your fridge will probably go bad. You would think because it’s so cold outside the cooler temperature inside the house would work as a fridge and keep your food cool. Unfortunately luck is anything but on my side.
Three days after this letter, I get another wonderful blow from work. The potential client who I’ve been breaking my back to win over the last month decided to go another route. Even though I did practically everything to please this guy, my boss still felt compelled to blame me for their choice. He was anything but pleased with my work performance. Not only did I fail a very easy test – his words not mine – I lost a big client. Thinking that hey life can’t possibly get worse, Sunday arrives with such a big knock that I nearly drowned.
I went out to see another client and although I meant to go back to the office to catch up on some extra work, I decided to head to Gareth’s place. With my crazy workload I haven’t been able to see my boyfriend in weeks. I figured hey I have a hour to spare. Let’s quickly pop in and surprise him with a early dinner. I go out of my way to stop at our favorite pizza place before begrudgingly speed walking through the rain to his apartment. I let myself in as I’ve done so many times before. I sit the pizza down on the kitchen counter and put the lights on as I walk through the apartment. Is he sleeping? A grunt leads me to his bedroom. What on earth is he doing? Before I could even brain storm what action is behind the sound, his grunt is followed by a moan. A women’s moan. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what he is doing. Pure hot anger runs through my veins as I slam open his bedroom door. My best guess was correct. The piece of shit clearly doesn’t know the meaning of a faithful relationship. With a battle cry that could scare a bear, I use all my upper body strength to throw his most prized trophy above the bed. It goes straight through half of his wall and the sound halts their movements. He looks up and I take great satisfaction is the pure horror crossing his features. He jumps up and frantically covers himself spewing excuses over his actions.
“I’m sorry! It didn’t mean anything!”
“It only happened once!”
“It was an accident!” Oh yeah sure because you just tripped and entered her. I mean sure that happens in real life. I turn around, grab my pizza and slam the door shut. I kept my cool all the way to the station. It was only when I sat down that I started to cry. Full blown sobbing. A year of my life down the drain.
For the next three days I try my utmost best to accept what happened and move on from it but the fact that the piece of shit already changed his Facebook status and proudly declared his actions and new bae to our shared Facebook friends sure as hell didn’t help the sting. At this point I chant to myself that it can’t possibly get worse. It’s been two weeks of hell. It’s going to get better now however life felt like it hasn’t done enough to bring me to my knees. It throws food poisoning into the mix. A very bad case of it too. The whole nine yards; nausea, vomiting, watery and bloody diarrhea, abdominal pain and cramp and a fever that made me hallucinates. The doctor booked me off work for two days but my boss being the complete and utter asshole he is send me work I can do from home while I deal with my heartbreak – his words. He also proceeded to take my two sicks days from my vacation days. Just as I recovered a great big red truck hit me like a ton of bricks. Figuratively of course although literally isn’t farfetched with how life is going at the moment. I’ve missed my period. Double checking the calendar tells me that I’ve missed my shark week by two weeks. I do the math and the color drains from my face. Oh god. I can’t. I just can’t. Realizing that I’m two weeks late at 9pm at night can really ruin things. Unable to rest, I detour out in the dangerous night at the nearby gas station. Hopefully they have it. I don’t know if you could consider it lucky but the gas station had the test – in a trusted brand as well – and I didn’t get mugged on my journey. Once home I pee on the little stick that could possibly change my entire life and waited the nail biting three minutes. The timer rang and I begrudgingly glanced down at the test. Two lines. Positive. No. No. No. I can’t be pregnant. After rocking myself for who knows how long on my bathroom floor; I’ve managed to accept or well wrap my head around the latest news. Twenty three, single and pregnant.
For the rest of the night I sit awake, browsing the internet about pregnancy, the joy of being a single young mother and how to magically grow a money tree. It doesn’t take me long to figure out that I’m going to need help. Although the idea of crawling back to my parents and begging for their help feels like another knock to the gut, I realize that there is nothing I can do about it. I can’t control life. Sometimes stuff happens for a reason, right? As my morning alarm goes off for work; I realize I never even slept and I have a ten hour working day ahead of me. Running to catch my train I begged life to just give me a break. Just give me four days to figure shit out. Please number three. Set me free.
I save the document before closing my laptop. Damn this girl had three weeks from hell.
“Arriving at Newcrest station in two minutes. This is the end station of the train. Please take all your belongings when you leave. Don’t forget to check out and have a lovely day.” I should probably give her a happy ending although giving all my characters happy endings isn’t my style. I put my laptop in its bag and start the process of putting on my coat. I glance in the direction of the worried lady and think to myself; ‘I hope your next three weeks goes by without a hitch.’
Find the next chapter here — https://butterflyfingers.com/2018/03/11/the-girl-writing-in-the-train-chapter-two-writing-corner/