4 Minutes.

It was just another ordinary dull morning in the city of New York. Nothing special. The daily rush to get out of the flat was so predictable that there really was no excuse for the creased shirt and wayward tie. It was almost routine to greet the man that seemed to live on the stairs with a casual nod, and to order two coffee’s at the kiosk opposite, because making them at home would just take too much time. The kiosk guy, Bert, always knew to take the second cup up to StairMan. New York is always such a busy city, especially at 8am, that juggling a briefcase, coffee cup and cell was something of an art amongst all the commuters. The rush of bodies flying past as I assembled down the concrete stairs into the subway was something that I’d grown accustomed to. Uncomfortable, yes, but completely unavoidable. Personal space was something of a luxury down in the underground city.

I’d missed the train. Should’ve seen that one coming, it was always a rarity for me to be early to work. Still, the next one comes in 4 minutes, and it’d be nice to just stop. I sometimes think that my unconscious makes me late on purpose, just so that I can have these few minutes to stop. And when you’re waiting on something, time always seems to go even slower, which I always see as an added bonus. Time flies when you’re in a rush, an I was always in a rush. From the moment that I get out of bed in the morning to the time that I get to the underground is always remembered as a blur, except I know exactly what happened: it happens everyday.

 And everyday i get these 4 minutes. And so mush can happen in 4 minutes. I lean back against the cold tiled walls of the platform, just watching the other commuters. This, out of my whole day, is always different. Every single day the people on the platform are different, or doing different things. Most people have their headphones in, listening to music on one of the several devices likely to be in their pockets. The volume is always on full blast that the faint beats of the songs can be heard, making a tune of its own as it blends with the humming and whooshing of the underground. Some people would be reading the morning paper, scanning through the news and events happening happening around the world. It’s always amusing to watch the people trying to read over shoulders, and the disappointment on their faces as the page is turned.

3 minutes until the train arrives. Most people are standing back from the platform edge whilst the wait. But not everyone. There’s one man standing a little further away from everyone else. He wasn’t really aware of his surroundings so i didn’t mind watching him for a while. The fact that he was a commuter was pretty clear, he had all the usual trademarks; suit, tie, briefcase. He looked pretty agitated, his brow was so furrowed that I could almost see the battle going on inside his mind. He was definitely deliberating something. His appearance gave the impression that he was going to work, perhaps he was late like me and was considering different excuses to give his boss? Maybe he was thinking about calling in sick? From experience, i can tell you that one sick day is way better than a late form. Or maybe he really was sick? He’s starting to sweat, and it’s always freezing down here.

2 minutes until the train arrives. The sick/agitated looking man has moved even further to the platform edge. He keeps glancing up to the time board, almost willing for the numbers to start ticking down. Man, this guy is really eager to get to work. I feel like i should say something to him, he really is ill. Sweat has started to stain his clothes, he’s obviously feverish or something, but he wont undo his tie? Something’s not right. And I’m not the only one looking at him now, most of the people on the platform keep shooting anxious glances towards the man, although, none are staring as openly as I am.

1 minute until the train arrives. He has moved right towards the platform edge now, toes sticking out into the open ditch. He keeps fidgeting and glancing at the board. He seems to be shaking now, but I’m not sure if that’s from the cold. He can’t keep still, and neither can i. I stand up straight, fully facing the man who was 20 feet away. I wasn’t quite sure what I’d planned to do, but i couldn’t just stand there and watch. It was clear to me now what the man’s intent was. And i was not the only person who knew. Every eye on the platform was now on the man, curious eyes, concerned eyes, scared eyes. We all heard the train before we saw it. The sound distracted us all for a second as we looked towards the left to see how far away the train was. And it only took a second for him to jump.

and upload my creative writing stuff on to here. By that i mean the stuff i do for lectures and shit, simply because its the only time i ever decide to write (when i’m being forced).

Please dont judge too harshly or anything, i’m an amature. or whatever comes before an amature.

Do repost/retweet if you like though :) wouldnt mind a few more followerrs

x

i lovee thiss, still laughinggg..

Ive been waiting for this for like well over a month, but it won’t work properly for me, it just wont go past chapter 3, i feel like Voldemort when he finally gets the elder wand, but it won’t work for him, so he thinks he has to kill snape. Who do i have to kill to get this to work? WHOO??

i fear that this will be me in like… a few years. =/

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Submitted by existentialnihilist

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blackbirdsbrokenwings:

How Harry Potter Should Have Ended