Untitled short story

Entry: 10^th November 2010
Dear Diary.

Today, it’ll be an entry unlike any other. Like something out of an independent film, I witnessed something extraordinary unfold in a short space of time. Not bad for an average day at the office! At about 7pm, I was in West Ham Underground Station, waiting for the next Jubilee line train. PA announcements said the line was suffering from delays. If my memory is correct, trains would run once every half-hour on the line. The clock had also just crept back an hour to welcome winter, peering its ugly face into London. The lighting was incredibly poor too, with swathes of fog covering the station.

   I was a bit too engrossed in cupping my hot cocoa, my only source of warmth, when I realised that I was the only person on the platform. Even staff members were nowhere to be seen. Strange, but I shrugged it off. Frequent checks of the clock brought me in sync with the time - about 15 minutes had passed during my stay on the damp passenger waiting bench. There was still no one else but myself. Where is everyone today, away from a national holiday that I slept through?

   After a few minutes of more silence, another guy walked past me. At least I wasn’t alone now, so I studied his appearance. He looked like the usual West Ham United type, an ugly bastard with swagger if I’m being completely frank. I’ll call him Baldy through lack of a better name. He was hairless except for his ginger eyebrows. He was clad in jogger wear, baggy trousers and a bright Adidas wind jacket. If this was his normal attire, then I wonder how he survived the winter. He stood a few metres away from me, head lowered, hands in his pockets. Streams of cold breath exuded from him, like some hypnotic pulsation. The mist reminded me it was so damn cold thanks to the usual British weather. He didn’t notice my eyeballing, because I was sitting in a pretty dark part of the platform.

   Already bored of him, my attention returns to my hot cocoa, its heat radiating from the cup I was holding. It was dwindling in warmth; my hands cooling down under its touch. I craned my head to the right a bit to look towards the other guy waiting at the platform to find that there was another guy.

The second person was certainly better dressed than the guy in the jogger pants. Well, what clothes I may have seen was hidden by a white robe covering his whole body and legs. He was a hulking mass. Judging by the covering on his head and the flowing, semi-groomed beard he had, he looked religious. He was holding a white carrier bag, the wind hurrying through it and causing a pristine flutter. The closest depiction of him I could offer was a softer looking version of Leonidas (or a bearded Gerard Butler from 300) so let’s call him Leon from now on.

   Baldy, no longer still, is exchanging a few words with the newcomer. He was no longer leaning on the wall and seemed different now, less reserved and nonchalant, more... poised. But his hands were still firm and wedged in his pockets. He was next to Leon, who looked pretty calm - considering how close Baldy was. This strange body language was hard to read, and again, it didn’t seem like they noticed me. Perhaps it was the poor lighting, or the intensity of it all. I was just the mere observer from afar, wedged into one of the passenger benches.

   Then I heard a brief exchange of unclear words, followed by a loud thud. I’m sure the whole station must’ve heard it, because Leon was sent flying a short distance. Another thud; he crashes out on the platform ground. His carrier bag also fell from his grasp with a muffled thump. This was happening far too quickly. But I could grasp that I was witnessing a typical attack. Tube stations are infamous of robberies, murders and science but damn, I was watching all this. I was a witness to a potential homicide. Terrified as heck, I made no noise as I watched Baldy stand in front of his victim.

   But a few moments afterwards, Leon got up, dusting himself off, looking Baldy squarely in the face. I thought he should’ve stayed down and let Baldy have his way. After all, it’d probably be over in seconds. But he didn’t look at all stunned. The calm demeanour dematerialised as Leon stood, their eyes locked. Only now did I notice the stark, fierce difference of height between the two. With my back stuck like glue to the wall, I peeped at them in perfect view. Did I mention the weird ambience of the platform lights? It was like a sci-fi movie (or a wildlife documentary, take your pick) in here that I regretted not bringing a camera!

Still maintaining eye contact with Baldy, Leon said “Try that again.” No swagger, none of that schoolboy attitude, just a cold, direct invitation. His voice was sombre but clear as day. A roar of the wind ushered my attention to the bag on the floor. It was split open, as if slashed. There’s nothing but groceries in there; typical corner shop fodder like bread and pasta sauce (of all the things to remember!). I was still stuck to the wall. No way were they both going to notice me.

   Baldy had a mixture of confusion and anger in his reddening face, and he responded with a profound “You what!?” He housed a typical Cockney accent, albeit a bit shaky. A knife, presumably stolen from his mother’s kitchen, was in his sweaty hands. How the tables have turned. Looking at the knife drew attention to Leon’s shawl-like garment, the bottom of which was now slashed from the hem, revealing a pair of beige slacks. I can hear the faint drone and slight screeching of a Tube carriage. Finally! A quick check of the station clock indicated that about 30 minutes had passed since I sat down here.
   ‘You heard me. Try that again.’
   And he did. Baldy roared and came at him with his kitchen knife. But he must’ve misjudged his lunge, because he slipped, only to be caught by Leon, who grabbed him by the cuff single-handed. Now he’s in for it, I thought. As the Underground carriage crawled and slowed towards the station, I was sure he was going to throw Baldy into the tracks. There was still no one around, so the hooligan’s shouts for help were useless. Which was just as well since Leon slammed him to the wall. His warning was audible.

   ‘Next time you think of doing this to someone, think about what just happened here.’
   The train stopped. He let go of Baldy, who floored himself. He retreated into the corner, looking petrified. I could smell his fear. For some reason, I only just noticed the cup of cocoa in my hand, now cold, as if my sense of touch had gone walkies during this episode.

   I waited till the bearded man entered the Tube carriage. Putting down the cup, I took my seat many metres from him and entered the carriage. Still trying to make sense of what happened, I had to squeeze my hands to stop them from shaking. That was a long day. (1244)