The Cliché

He opened his eyes. He was waiting for her at the train station. It was late. Almost midnight. The train would be leaving soon. And they'd go away. Far away from the family feuds and the intimidation and the pain and the...But why hadn't she come yet? She had to. She had promised. The light turned green. A whistle sounded. The train set off in motion with a gentle shove. One last searching look. He rubbed away the tears. And stepped on to the train...

He opened his eyes. His head felt heavy. And a couple of sizes too big. Something cold was pressed against his hand. A .45 automatic. Used quite recently. He could smell it in the air. He tried to get his eyes to focus. And regretted it immediately. She lay on the carpet in a pool of blood. He stumbled over and hugged her. Then carried her lifeless body and placed it on the bed. He knew he would be the prime suspect. His fingerprints were all over the place. Well, so be it. He rubbed away the tears and reloaded the gun. They would pay for this...

He opened his eyes. Someone was calling his name. He walked over and got his espresso. 3 more hours of studying. And then 2 more in the examination hall. He wondered how many more espressos he'll need. He tried to concentrate on the squiggles which according to the author were a data plot. Someone who smelled nice squeezed past him, stumbled and scalded his neck with her latte. He screamed. She panicked. Everyone stared. She got some napkins. She said she was sorry. He said it was alright. He made a quick trip to the restroom. He sat down. He saw she had the same textbook...

He opened his eyes. The hospital tiles stared back at him. Cold, unfriendly and spotlessly clean. She'd been in surgery for almost three hours now. His brain was numb from worrying. And praying. All he wanted was for someone to come out and tell him that she was going to be okay. It had been a drunk driver. One who hadn't noticed or hadn't cared for the red light. Why? Why her? Why today? Why hadn't he picked her up from work like everyday? He rubbed away the tears and looked up. The nurse was walking towards him. Please let her be okay, just please let her be okay...

"What are you doing? And why are these crumpled papers on the floor?"

"Well, what does it look like I'm doing? I am trying to write a short story. But everything I've tried so far just sounds so clichéd."

The Date

He was late. He muttered silent curses as the crowd jostled and shoved politely to get through the turnstiles. Taking the Harbour line used to be an enjoyable ride, he thought, and now look at it. He ran the rest of the way and reached the platform out of breath. The train was late. He had got worked up for no reason. It had been happening a lot lately. It wasn't good. But then today wasn't any ordinary day. He was taking her out today.

He had met her for the first time on the morning 8:05 northbound. Two months ago. Two months of patience. And persistence. After all, he wasn't much to look at. And she was...well, she was way out of his league. But he had persevered on. He had started with finding out everything there was to know about her, almost bordering on obsessive stalking. Her personal history, her friends, where she lived, where she shopped, where she worked. Finding out about her work had been most difficult. All he had been able to uncover was that she worked for some hush hush department in a company that was almost unknown to the public. And he hadn't pressed on afraid that she might find out she was being watched. Gradually all that had paid off and they became train buddies. She would save him a seat. He would get her a coffee. And this had gone on for quite some time. Till today morning, when he had asked her out. And she had said yes.

The train ground to a halt and he realized it was his stop. Another lapse in attention, thinking about her. Not good, he reminded himself. He hurried out of the station. There was a lot to do. And very little time. But he had planned for this since long. For the next one hour he worked efficiently, almost mechanical in his motions while following his mental blueprint and then got dressed.

He took a taxi uptown but walked the last block while he made a phone call to check on the reservation. The apartment concierge buzzed him in and he took the stairs to number 207.

"Hey. You're here, right on the dot. You'll have to give me a coupla minutes. Come in."

"After you."

The gunshots were almost a whisper. She went limp.

He dialled the number.

"It's done."

He checked the time. Half an hour to the airport, easy. He looked at her. And smirked. One less in the Harbour Line crowd tomorrow.