mirleft by Melissa Morano

Feeling like a picked-to-nothing carcass, I turned my attention to Ramos. To my dismay he’d fallen into another coma of sleep, chest rising and falling like tides on a shore, blissfully unaware of the tension around him. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I clung to the hope that he’d wake up and swoop in to save me. The Man had gotten closer. He took a step forward in the time I looked away. I could see dead veins running under his eyes like twisted pitchforks, almost sinewy in nature. There was a stain on his navy jacket whose color I couldn’t make out. “Please, and I mean this with all due respect, please just leave me alone.” I warned, inching closer to the exit. Regardless of what the next stop was, I knew that I had to get off. THIS IS ASHLAND. DOORS OPEN ON THE RIGHT AT ASHLAND. As soon as the train car came to a stop, I grabbed my bag and whirled onto the platform with tsuamic force. Head spinning like a top, I fastened the strap of my purse and began to bolt for the exit doors. I heard the whiz of the Green line make its way towards California, sending ribbons of wind fluttering through my hair. I took a moment to look down. Both shoes were untied and my stockings were sagging at my ankles. Anyone unlucky enough to spot me at this hour would’ve thought I was a hooker coming home from a brothel. I had to make sure I had enough cash to call for a taxi home-- walking would simply be dangerous.

V As I fumbled in my bag to fish out my wallet, I heard a pitter-patter behind me. There was The Man, looming over me in black, tweed swallowing in frame. I watched in horror as he unbuttoned his coat, revealing a horribly stained white shirt. He outstretched his hand like a priest handing me communion. “Looking for this?” He asked, unfurling his wiry fingers. In his gloved palm was my leatherbound wallet, empty and stripped to the bone.

109