Bustle
Eve Forster, age 17
Contest Winner
Bustle. That’s what they’d call it. Like those promotional films for mining towns that brag about their night life. Bustle. But I don’t think bustle is the right word. Chaos, perhaps. Pandemonium. Not bustle.
The platform was brimming over with people who each wanted to go different ways. It was a struggle even to stand, even if one didn’t really want to. After all, with the hazy clouds of smoke bringing tears to my eyes and the smell of hundreds of clustered, stressed out, overheated bodies filling my nose whenever I raised my head above the herd, it was hard not to consider the alternative. At least on the ground my ears would be spared the screeching wails of brakes and babies.
It took only a second for me to falter.
In an instant, I was on the floor. My right hip burned like Hell, and I bit back tears almost as fiery. I could see my purse lying less that two metres away; it must have flown from my hands as I fell.
I struggled to get up to retrieve it, but couldn’t. Every time I rose, I would be knocked down by a wayward leg or hand. I felt like a hackysack. “Please,” I pleaded, “someone please help me up...”
I was suffocating. The air was greasy and dense, not like a subway platform but like a factory — the old ones, with poor working conditions and child-sized equipment. If only I could get up, I thought, I need air, no matter how smoky it is...
A hand reached out, and pulled me up. It was a strong hand, and beautiful. It was attached to a young man who was equally beautiful, but maybe it was because he had just saved me that I thought so. His shining face was framed in blonde curls, and he wore a light grey suit that reflected slightly the glaring red lights from a clock above. With the hand that wasn’t holding me steady he pressed my purse against me.
“I think this belongs to you.”
My words caught in my throat. I opened my mouth, and he smiled slightly and hurried away. As he disappeared, I felt a pang of disappointment.
“Thank you.”
I hurried past the bulldog-faced business men and skateboarding street kids towards the exit. I pushed through the door and into a sunny winter afternoon. The air was biting and cold, but it was fresh. I breathed it in with satisfaction and reached into my purse for my keys. But wait. Something was wrong, was missing. My wallet.
I walked, disgusted and embarrassed to my car.
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Winners list:
Aaron Pearcey: Poem - Homework Blues
Jenna Henderson: Poem - *Nsync Style
Kelly Flower: Untitled limerick
Beth Byrd: Poem - Is It Me?
Corey: Untitled poem
Kristine Millard: Short Story - The Mall
Eve Forster: Short Story - Bustle
Mistee: Short Story - Going Home
Brooklyn Soden: Four haikus about spring
Sarah Gustin: Short Story - The Greater Gift
