An Unfortunate Situation

He has to decide. God he has to decide.

The trolley was close. Astonishingly close. He could’ve sworn it was farther away a second ago, well it was farther now that he thinks about it, that is how movement works. How the hell did he get into this situation? This is something you see in old western movies, or those odd books you find in other countries. A bead of sweat travelled down his forehead, and decided to rest in his left eye. He always prided himself in his quick and rational decision making, but now it appeared he was inept in any thought processing skill. The situation? A trolley, versus people. The trolley track split into two directions. On the left track, was a single person tied to the track, and on the right a group of five were tied. In front of him stood a lever, which would decide the direction that the trolley would travel. The note on the lever told him that once the lever was moved, it would not move again. Any movement of the lever was final. Move the lever left to choose the left track, move right for the right.

The trolley was closer. He remembers trolleys. Long ago, in his teenage years, he would ride a trolley to reach his girlfriend’s house. The trolley would slow down because of traffic halfway through the ride, and he would always stick his arm out of the vehicle and pick a rose from a nearby rose bush. But that trolley was a different trolley. That trolley didn’t kill people.

He remembers roses. God he loves roses. Whenever his mom cleaned the house, she would replace the old roses on the dining room table with fresh new ones. He loved his mom, with her red cheeks and angelic smile. His father passed away shortly after he was born, so he never knew the man. It was always him and his mom. She never dated, instead worked full time and supported two children. Him, and his sister. His sister mirrored his mom. They shared the same eyes and facial structure. His sister recently graduated from college. He was proud. She finally got her Logistics degree she had been working so hard for. He should have gone to her graduation, but Stanford was so far away. He needs to focus. The trolley is closer.

He doesn’t know what to do. Should he spare the group, and kill the solo woman on the left, or kill the five people on the right? He’s always heard that the group is more important than the individual, but does that logic really apply here? That woman could have children! She could have two children at home that she needs to feed, just like his mom. There were still people on the right however, and they seemed equally important. They could have lovers waiting at home, children, hell even pets. He couldn’t see them move. He couldn’t see their faces. Their faces were covered by some type of clothe, and they seemed to be tied down so tight that they couldn’t move. How torturous he thought, how sinful. These people are most likely terrified and confused, and they aren’t even allowed to move?! The only reason he could tell the woman on the right was indeed a woman, was the way he saw her long blonde hair sprawled on the ground.

The trolley was close now, oh God was the trolley close. He had to decide now. There was no more time to think. He remembered something else. He read in a book once that if an object was in front of a trolley’s wheels, the object would ruin said wheels, forcing it to stop. He knew what to do. He ran, and jumped in front of it. If anyone was nearby, they would’ve heard a metallic screech.

His bones were crushed, his muscles were torn. Something impaled his left knee, while a wheel mutilated his spine. After another wheel decimated his skull, everything went dark, and the pain was gone,

The reader will like to know that it did work. That the trolley was stopped. The reader will also like to know that the next morning, at 8:45 A.M, a security guard found a stopped trolley with a dead body mixed into its wheels, and six mannequins tied to the tracks with their faces covered.

Author's Note

Tell me how it is. Hope it doesn't suck. Inform me of grammar issues please.