11 April 2012
The shutters on the window split the blaring rich yellow light, causing me to squint as their broken, structured shadow ran over my face in a consistent pattern. I ignored the dust particles which glittered like a kind of magical powder as it spiralled through the air and calmly breathed in the heavy smell of petrol and carbon dioxide. The carriage chugged along on the uneven surface below, causing it to shake and its inhabitants to sway and drift slightly, slowly, submitting to their transport's movements without so much as a second glance. The interior of this not-so-luxurious mode of transport wasn't particularly easy on the eyes: it was dark, claustrophobic and uncomfortable. The other passengers were keeping to themselves, mouths shut tight. Though you could hardly make out more than their softened silhouettes unless the thick polluted light crossed them, you could venture a guess that they were staring into the space in front of them or their laps unseeingly and be relatively accurate. There were poker faces all around on all of the travellers, young and old — blank expressions and zero emotions. Someone could be sitting dead in their seat and no-one would be able to tell the difference between the corpse and the person sitting next to it.
Judging by the state of the air, it wasn't so unlikely that that would happen.
My name is Janet Rothburn. Twenty-three years old. Black, short hair, old-fashioned in style with parting to left side, held back by a clip. Pale face. Hazel eyes. Travelling coat, old-fashioned again, long and dark. Small, brown leather suitcase. And on the last train out of here.
A/N: idk where I'm going with this.
Excerpt. • Opuss № I