by Marianne Su
The train screeched along the tracks through the narrow tunnel. Headlights beamed across the grey walls of the station. I took tentative steps across the platform, clenching my fists the way I always do. I walked through the crowd of passengers, my hollow form invisible to them. No one noticed me that day either, not until the train’s brakes screamed in alarm.
My toes curled over the edge. The billboard was gone but its ghostly imprint lay on the dusty tiles across the tracks. Its message was still clear in my mind, with pink hearts and curly lettering. To most it had been harmless and frivolous without the taunting undertones that screamed to me.
Rumbling echoes grew louder. I leaned forward but the moment was never right, not like it was that first time. There were no frantic brakes or horrified screams, just a reminder that since that day when everything changed, some things stayed the same.