The Thin Yellow Line

He stood on the tracks, brave, soul less. The atmosphere in the subway is heavy. Friends laugh at his stupidity, onlookers try to take little notice, less blame. He smiles up at them, rebellious decay in his teeth. Then the vibrations of an approaching train, rumbling, unstoppable. Left and right, left, right, from which tunnel can we see the light? The idiot on the track closes his eyes, raises arms, poses as if crucified. The horn blows and reverberates through the hollow platform, through his hollow chest. His friends aren't laughing, their panic stricken hands reach out to him, some teeter on the yellow line. The train passes through the station, through him. Sparks and screeching, as a soul rises on the wind with the newspapers.