Yellow

January 9, 2018

Breath laced with whiskey seized my senses, sweaty hands crawling down my back. They were unrelenting, until they closed around my waist, pulling me from where I sat. I pushed them away.

“Do not touch me.”

Weaving through the party, I was lost in a sea of bodies, the blurry lights causing my head to swirl. Anxiously awaiting the cool air and soon the soft bed in my apartment, I burst through the doors like a lion out of its cage. I had to escape from this hell hole, but I only continued to descend until I stumbled, catching myself on the grime coated cement of the subway floor. Like a spiral, the dim-lit corridor drew me further, and further, until time slowed to a crawl.

The yellow strip on the edge of the subway seemed to go on for infinity, falling into the tunnels gaping maw, eagerly awaiting to swallow it. A color to ward people away from a slip, a fall, a push. Yellow had always been my favorite color. Peaceful, inviting me to stand on the edge; to stand on the line between safety and danger.

Bright beams ripped through my drunken haze. Suddenly, I could hear the rythmic thumping, some sultry spoken poetry set to a broken beat pulsing to the strobe lights overhead. I was brought back to the piercing sounds and lights of that place, closer and closer, my pathetic sobs swallowed by its screeching. I felt dizzy, unstable legs crumbling to the floor. My head struck the yellow cement, and there I went, tumbling over the edge.


The author's comments:
I’ve read an article stating that 48 people died from subway accidents in 2016. I was inspired to write a tragic story of one’s unfortunate lead up to such accident, and also of the dangers of alcoholism, and the reckless actions it can cause people to do.

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