The Storm

A Story by Al M.

The beginning of what I hope is a full book- I'm terrible at follow-through, but good with initial ideas. Input, please!

Everyone sat silent on the train. There were instructions on the door that clearly explained how to address a stranger in case of emergency; everyone read it, yet nobody would dare speak to someone they didn't know. Even in an emergency, it was safer to adhere to the silent laws set by the police. As advertised by the signs every two or three columns inside then station: 'someone is always listening'.

Alice sat on a flip-down seat with a book in her hands. It was the same book she had carried with her for the last three years- she'd never gotten past page 19, yet it was a book that screamed "Don't bother me". She never complained about the silence laws- they suited her well. She exited the train at her regular stop- yet this time, things sounded different. The silence law was instituted in 2022, and she had rarely complained about it. It was hard enough to shut off the noises in her head, much less stifling the din of the outside world. She slowed her step and cocked her head to the right as she stepped in her usual stride to her apartment. In her 3 inch heels she was used to a signature clack followed by a tiny metallic echo. Today, both sounds were absorbed by the thick fog gathering around her ankles. Nothing about this commute was right.

She continued: left, right, left, right, until she reached her door. She blew on the lock, trying to disperse some of the heavy cloud covering the lock- etching into her memory how thick this storm was at its' birth. Soon nothing would be left.

The last time the storm hit, she had moved west- midwest, to be more specific. She fell in love, got a real job, had a real baby and a real marriage, then really left to have a real life. She had to put her head between her knees every time she thought about the daughter she abandoned to fulfill the stupid goal she had written in her high school achievement journal, yet it was even more heartbreaking to feel that no goals laid out by a 16 year old had been finished. A teenager knows nothing of love or life- yet that teenager was running Alice's.

She moved back to New York in 2026, rented a flat for $2700 a month and quietly drained her savings account. She had told her husband that she needed more. He always gave in with the hope that 6 more months would make her realize what she'd left behind. He sent pictures once in a while. Alice grimaced at how fat he was letting their 3 year old get. Pictures showing her mashing chocolate cupcakes with her giant fists made her ill, yet she still filed all letters, pictures and medical reports in a folder that she kept safely under her bed. The folder was sandwiched between others, all monumentally important; but it was the only one with a proper name. "Suzanna". The others were "bills", "records" and, most importantly, "ICOA."

Her key turned familiarly in the lock- it stuck the first two turns to the right, then finally clicked as she spun it 180 degrees. She exhaled finally. There was always something about entering this place that made her uneasy. Maybe it was the terms on which she negotiated the rent: First 3 months up front. 3 months notice to leave.