Graphic by Allison Kinzer
My pace quickens as I make my approach to the Medford/Tufts Green line stop. The game plan runs through my head.
Don’t look left or right. If you make eye contact, it’s over. EYES ON THE PRIZE.
As I round the corner I say a quick prayer for a herd of people to get lost in – no such luck. I’m greeted instead by a person clad in red resting against the weathered brick of the station. I chance the briefest of glances in their direction and catch only the script on their nametag: Hank.
I force my gaze down and very cleverly shout “I’LL SWIPE ON THE TRAIN,” and hurry down the stairs away from Hank’s sharp gaze.
I don’t slow my pace until I reach the train. The train is safety. The train is freedom. Once you reach the train, there’s nothing they can do.
Or so I think.
I take my seat in the front most train car and breathe a sigh of relief. Just as I begin to relax for my hour-long ride into the city, the car shakes violently.
I scream and drop my phone. I look around to see if anyone else has noticed, and find myself alone.
I lean over to grab my fallen device and I am then knocked over by another large tremor.
I don’t hesitate to rush to the conductor’s car the second I can stand. I throw back the folding door and am met with an empty seat.
I back up and push my way out the door opposite the control booth and look outside the train. Nothing seems out of place.
Suddenly, I feel the ground shake, and from behind the train a massive red beast rises from the earth. Squinting against the sun, I see the face of my tormentor. It is Hank.
Only now he is over 80 stories tall and glowing with power. Where he once had arms, a sea of tentacles writhes violently.
Catching sight of me outside of the train, he roars loudly and thrusts a tentacle in my direction. “FARE DODGER. SCUM OF THE EARTH. COME MEET YOUR MAKER.”
I duck back into the train to avoid the blow and find myself back in the engineer’s little booth.
While taking a moment to adjust my mirrors and buckle my seatbelt, I begin to study the control panel.
Avoiding the massive red stop-button, I set about flicking switches and levers until I feel the train rocket forward.
I glance in the mirrors and find Hank in hot pursuit. I see his tentacles glow brighter, and then a massive fireball shoots at my train car.
I initiate a rapid track switch to avoid the blow, but it leaves the other track devastated.
I search in front of me, seeking any form of escape from the situation.
Behind me, Hank continues to howl and readies another fireball. “I WILL TAKE YOUR SOUL. THAT IS THE PRICE FOR THIS GREEN LINE RIDE.”
My saving grace appears shortly after Science Park: the tunnel. I rip open the control panel and begin tugging at wires in an attempt to make the train go faster.
My train shrieks in protest as I push it to top notch speeds of three, maybe even four miles per hour.
I glance in my mirror and see the fireball almost upon me as I enter the tunnel. I can feel the heat, and I brace to meet my maker as a huge explosion rings out and I continue to soar into the underbelly of Boston.
A red tentacle snakes its way into the entrance of the tunnel, and I steel myself for round two.
A loud crash sounds and I see the tunnel collapse, weakened by the impact of the fireball, crushing Hank.
But I’m not safe yet. My train continues to careen at a breakneck pace toward North Station.
Instinctively, I reach for that big red button. I slam it over and over but no luck. I must have disconnected it in my wire pulling frenzy earlier.
Left with no other option, I break open the train door and prepare to abandon ship.
I’m posed Subway Surfers style, ready to leap out when we reach the next station.
I see the light grow brighter as I grow closer, and closer, and closer.
I hear confused chatter and know I must warn the innocent masses. I run back to the cabin to blast the train’s horn until the light is upon me.
I dash back to the open door and spring outside, tucking and rolling. The crowd splits and forms a small circle around my battered frame as I come to a rest sprawled on the concrete.
I lay there, alive – despite the odds.
Dear reader, I beseech you. Save yourself the trouble and just pay the $2.40.
