Bird Legs

It was quiet as he stood on the platform waiting for the last tube home. He kept his head down looking carefully at his dark mud stained boots, trying not to make eye contact with anyone else, the last thing he wanted was an altercation with someone who had had one-too-many drinks. He was sober, as he had been for six months. He had just been to the cinema alone, as was his normal Thursday night tradition, the flickering light from the projector his only friend. His laces on his left boot were undone, so he steadily knelt down to tie them. As he did so he couldn’t help but notice a pair of bare legs to his left, beautiful perfect bare legs. He made a grunt of discontent and continued clumsily tying his shoe lace, he remembered what his mum had told him, ‘the rabbit goes out the hole, round the tree, and then back into the hole’. This memory made him smile, but it was interrupted by the stream of air which tells the well travelled that the train is coming. He finished with his laces and rose back to his feet, head still directed towards the faded yellow line that separated him from the tracks. He couldn’t help but look to his left again as the train arrived, partly to see the bright headlights, partly to glance at those perfect legs he had seen earlier. This time he look higher than just the legs, and saw her face, he felt a shiver in his groin. No, he thought to himself, Stop it. The doors opened, he took the two steps into the brightness and warmth offered within.

*

She felt decidedly woozy as she rode the escalator down to the tube, one-too-many double vodka redbulls she thought. It had been a good night, dancing away in her favourite nightclub, but work tomorrow had ensured an early night, she hated that Thursdays were cheap night. High heels were not the best thing to walk in after a few drinks, but they made her calf muscles look more defined, and as he mother had always said ‘beauty is an art my dear, there must always be sacrifice’. Try telling that to my feet she mused. She tried her best to avoid the cracks that had formed in the well warn concrete, and after taking several seconds longer than is should have to read the sign, she turned left to her platform. It was quiet, just a few others that had joined her for the last train home that night. She would have got a taxi like normal, but with the recession, every penny counts, and if she wanted to afford her make up next month, then her oyster card would have to get more use than she would have liked. Anyway, it wasn’t a long ride. There was a man struggling to tie his shoelaces, he had dirty shoes, a tramp probably she assumed, great, she thought, he better not smell like piss. Other than that it was a very uneventful few minutes until the tell tail wind crept in, and the train pulled up to the platform. She took baby steps, her heels slapping loudly against the floor, she didn’t want the embarrassment of tripping over the slight step up. After successfully negotiating the only obstacle between her and the train, she lowered herself onto the soft, brightly patterned cushion, instantly feeling the pressure of relief flow from her feet.

*

She sat opposite him. Teasing him he thought. Why must she sit there? As the train leached forward he couldn’t help but use his peripheral vision to take her in. Pink high heels, short denim skirt, dark navy boobtube and a gold necklace. Asking for it some might say, but not him, no he didn’t think that way anymore. No wonder she’s shivering. She was pretty, he could definitely see that, why ruin it with such vulgar clothing, he didn’t think that should be allowed, but there wasn’t anything he could do to change it. His stomach served as a distraction as it rumbled with discontent. He wished he could have afforded lunch. Never mind, not long till home, just a few stops, then he wouldn’t have to look at her anymore. His house wasn’t nice, but he was content with it, it had a shower, a toilet, a TV, a kitchen, and a bed, he didn’t need anything else, simple man, with simple needs, especially now the drinking had stopped. That’s why his wife had left, he remembered the mornings he used to wake up next to her, to see the blood on the pillow and the bruising on her face. He felt ashamed, but the drink had got him, trapped him, he couldn’t control the ‘other him’. That was the past, and now as he sat on the train he tried to forget it, tried to focus on his reflection in the window, but she was still sat there, messing his mind up. He stole a direct glance at her chest, another twinge downstairs, calm down, not now. The train pulled up to his stop and he noticed that she was getting up as well. Bitch.

*

Shit, she thought, why did I sit here? She had sat directly opposite the tramp who couldn’t tie his shoelaces, luckily, he didn’t smell of piss. She blamed the alcohol in her system for the seat choice, and deliberated as to whether it was too late to move. It was she decided. She kept her head down, partly as this was the best way to stop her from feeling sick, and partly because she didn’t want to make eye contact with the man opposite. He was probably checking her out. The thought made her skin crawl, and a noticeable shiver raced through her body. At least it wasn’t too far to her flat, just a few stops. She liked her flat, nice big TV, leather sofa, and a gorgeous double bed that had taken quite the persuasive chat with her Daddy. All the things a girl like her needed. What she didn’t need was to be sat on this train, with some weird pervert tramp staring at her. She thought of her boyfriend to take her mind off it. He wasn’t perfect but she liked him. A bit of a ‘bad boy’ her friends had said. He only hit her once, and he didn’t mean to, just got a bit out of control, it was her fault, and she should have seen that he was too drunk. He wouldn’t do it again. Great shag though, she couldn’t deny him that. The train had stopped and people had exited and entered the train, she hadn’t paid much attention to any of them. As the train began to slow she realised that it was her stop next, she lifted herself to her feet with the help of the yellow bar to her right, and stood waiting for the door to open, as they did, she noticed to her horror that the tramp was also on his way to the door. Fuck.

*

He followed her with contempt, why did she have to get off at his stop. All he wanted to do was to get home, eat, shit and sleep. Now as he followed her the voice inside his head grew nervous, sweat formed under both armpits and on the palm of his hands. He lost sight of her at the top of the stairs, having had a good view up her skirt. Calm down he thought, you’re not like that. She turned left out of the station, so did he. It was dark out, her figure could only be seen as she past under the orange glow of the street lights. He kept his distance, tried to build up his courage. He walked past his driveway without a glance. He continued up the street, quickening his pace, so did she, her loud clunking heels hitting the floor at more regular intervals than before, she was ten feet ahead. Almost in touching distance.

*

She could hear him behind her, sense him. Why was he following her, was she just being paranoid? Thoughts tried to formulate, but the liquor was counteracting them, panic had set in. She had to get home fast, he was close. She wished for her boyfriend, faults or no faults, she knew he could hit hard, he would protect her. Almost home. Fear occupied the majority of her senses, maybe he lived round here, maybe he wasn’t following her. She could hear him getting closer. Why me, she thought, I don’t deserve this, why me? Why me?

*

He decided this was his chance. He took several large strides, and reached out, his hand hovering just above her shoulder before lowering it down.

*

She felt his hand touch her shoulder, she tried to scream, her voice letting her down, fear stopping her. She turned to face him, shaking. A tear instinctively rolled down her cheek. She focused on his face, the beard, thick eye brows, and dirty brown hair. She saw his other hand slide into his left jacket pocket. A knife, she thought, he’s going to stab me. I don’t deserve it, the voice in her head shouted in vain, I don’t.

*

As she turned to face him, he could see a tear run down her cheek, must have been the cold wind in her face he thought. Now was his chance, take it or leave it. The voice in his head told him what to do next, and this time he was going to listen. He reached into his jacket pocket and felt the cold metal against his fingers, perfection he thought. Does the job perfectly. It was time to give her what always hers, from the second she left the train, he knew she was going to get this, deserved it much more than he did.

*

She saw the glimmer of silver as the moon reflected on it. She died inside, no use fighting now. She looked back to his face, straight into his brown eyes, she wanted to stare at them, make him remember. She could see from the movement in his shoulder that his arm was coming towards her, she kept her eyes fixed directly on his, not blinking, refusing to move. His lips began to twitch, and the sound of words came out, she couldn’t hear him, she didn’t want to. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of reacting. Not long now, his shoulder moved further forwards.

*

‘Miss’ he started, but she seemed not to be listening, she looked petrified. ‘Miss, excused me’ still no reaction, he shook her gently with the hand on her shoulder and she seemed to focus on him. ‘Miss, I think this belongs to you’ he held the metal in his hands and moved it towards her, she glanced down.

*

She heard him this time, his voice was softer than she had expected, he told her to look down, why did he want her to see it before he killed her, what a sick fuck. She looked down, her eyes focusing on the silver metal in shock. Her Ipod, she had left her fucking Ipod on the train.