A Splatter on the Tracks

His heart raced, "had anyone seen me?" But, of course not, he knew they hadn't; no one dares look at a fellow stranger on public transportation. So he sat alone, watching through the train's window as the sun rose in the east. He fiddled with a rubber band on his wrist. It had become automatic; he did it subconsciously.

As the train began to move, he felt a touch of relief, but only a little. He was leaving the past behind him, yet he couldn't cease worrying it would somehow catch him, if not here, then later, perhaps at his next destination? No, he knew that wouldn't happen. It wasn't possible. He had gotten away, and nobody knew what had happened.

He began counting the trees as they passed by; 1, 2, 3. it was helping to clear his mind and lessen his anxiety.

14, 15, 16. There were many trees, and they were steadily picking up speed. It was becoming difficult for him to keep up.

29, 30, 31. He was sure he'd missed a couple. He fiddled with the rubber band once again. His thumb and forefinger rubbed together, and between them, he felt a small clump of something. He looked down and saw a tiny red speck. He dropped it immediately and looked at his fingernails. They were longer than he liked; he had procrastinated in trimming them. Hidden under his forefinger's nail was a line of something crimson red. He clearly hadn't washed his hands thoroughly enough. His heartbeat quickened. He looked at the seats around him. The train was relatively empty; there weren't many passengers this early in the morning on a Sunday. The only other person in sight was a woman. Had she seen his fingers? Did she notice the red gunk under his nail?

He had always had an irrational fear that women could read men's minds. A thought stimulated by his Mother. As a boy, she would always know when he was getting into the cookie jar, whenever he broke something, or whenever he was lying. His adolescent mind had convinced him all women were telepathic. As an adult, he knew such thoughts were preposterous, yet he couldn't keep the irrational fear from surfacing again and again.

Now he sat on the train, seemingly alone, no one in sight save for some lady. Did she know his secret? No, he knew she couldn't. But what if she did?

He switched his attention back to his fingers and frantically tried to dig out the red gunk. He was making good progress, shoving his thumbnail under his forefinger nail as far as he could. It hurt, but he ignored the pain. He managed to dig the majority of the gunk, but one speck of it remained. No matter how much clawing and digging, it wouldn't budge. After giving up on it, he noticed the woman was watching him with a revolting look on her face. He tried to give a casual smile to ease her disgust. She turned away quickly. He figured he must've looked somewhat kooky. But that was fine. People ignore kooks.

He dropped his gaze down toward his feet. Low and behold, on the inside edge of his right shoe sat more of the same crimson red gunk. "Did I leave a shoe print?" He thought, looking back to his finger. "Did I leave a fingerprint?" Now he felt for sure that he'd be caught. It didn't matter how far this train took him, the cops would find him.

He returned his gaze back to the window. At some point they reached a mountain, they sped alongside a rocky cliffside. He stared off, contemplating what would happen to him.

He saw they were pulling up to the station, the breaks were squealing loudly as they slowed down. Red and blue lights were flashing. He knew this was it, this was the end of the line for him.

The train finally came to a stop. He remained seated. The doors opened, cops came flooding in, guns in hand. They spotted him. He sat with his arms raised. He stared down the barrel of a cop's gun, "You don't get to surrender!" The cop said before firing a shot.

He snapped back to consciousness, his head had been leaning against the window. It had only been a dream, he realized. But how could he know it wouldn't go down like that?

He looked back out the window once more. The boulders of the cliffside raced by at an intimidating speed. But could these rocks be an escape for him?

He twiddled his rubber band some more.

He stood up from his seat, shaking. His nerves were restless.

The woman stared at him, recoiling, face cringed, obviously revolted by the man before her.

He made his way to the back of the train and stood before the emergency exit.

"What if I'm wrong? What if I got away with it? What if they never catch me?" He pondered for a moment before his mind was flooded with images of lab techs running his fingerprint and confirming his shoe size. He knew there was no avoiding the inevitable.

He gripped the door handle and forced the exit open.

The woman emitted a scream from her seat.

He edged his way out of the train car, holding on tightly as he did.

The rocks sped by at an alarming speed. "Will this even hurt?" He hoped it wouldn't.

He looked back one last time at the woman in the train, she watched, panting heavily. He imagined her heart must've been racing, though not as fast as his.

He dared to twiddle his rubber band once more.

He held onto the train car with one hand as he twiddled the band with his other. He made to snap the rubber band but in stretching it, it broke. He watched as the broken band plummeted beneath the train, but in doing so he lost his grip. He fell back a few feet, slamming into the train car behind him. He spun off, but no large rocks met him, just a pile of loose gravel. He hit it and began to slide down. He watched in horror as he fell feet first beneath the speeding train.

He never wanted to hurt anyone, but he had committed an unforgivable atrocity. Now, he was just a splatter on the tracks.