Once distant, the clacking of the approaching train explodes in one almighty whoosh from the tunnel. It rattles the umbrellas of waiting commuters, a sea of quivering grey fabric wrapped around aluminium skeletons. A platform of freshly styled hair, lightly dampened by drizzle, is knocked out of place.

Nearer the back, a page is fluttered by the wind as a young woman stares deep beyond the small puzzle book. Her hair sodden and page covered in tiny circles of damp. She sits one leg over the other, the small book propped against her projected knee. Chewed pencil in hand, her focus is pulled back to this realm as the shuffling wave of weary workers pulls her from the thought. She jots down the remaining numbers in their boxes and springs to her feet in the direction of the closest carriage.

Expectedly, the train is uncomfortably cramped. Rows of seats filled with passengers and irritatingly placed backpacks. With ears plugged and eyes stuck to screens, the crowd was no closer to this moment than a wagon of ghosts. For all Sarah supposed, they were ghosts.

She awkwardly placed herself between two beige-draped men and once more looked towards her puzzle. 3, 6, 2… The tracks below clacked. Numbers melded and meshed together on the page. 4, 9… 8? A small jolt as the train hurtled towards the inner city, sending its cargo in a tiny apathetic lurch to one side. 7… 3?

The numbers weren’t doing what they were supposed to do. The walls of the train felt much tighter. The crowd of people suddenly felt a lot closer. Were there more now? Was the train smaller?

Sarah glanced up, to the window, and into the dark tunnel wall beyond. Looking back at her, a disheveled woman, maybe 30 years of age, with messy wet hair and a sodden sweater. The woman in the reflection had deep, sagging bags under her eyes and appeared deeply, distressingly, confused.

In disbelief, Sarah glanced around her at the sea of beige. A carriage of ghosts, indeed. Ensnared in their own lives, trapped by a routine, heavy bags of their own, Sarah was alone. No one to assist in solving this puzzle, nor anything the next one.

Writer’s note: a very tiny exploration of our culture of self-inflicted isolation. Written before bed on my phone. Please do leave your thoughts if you so wish but please also be considerate this is just a bit of fun. :) thank you!!