Work Text:
Brown paper packages tied up with strings
These are a few of my favorite things
My Favorite Things
As a rule, she tried to keep to herself on the train. The morning commute was usually packed. She would get on at the beginning on the line and have her choice of seats. She would move to a rear corner seat, left or right, it didn’t matter, and squash herself into it, hugging the metal wall as if it was her only fixed point in a universe gone mad.
She would also talk to herself, conservations that only made sense to her and her alone. That meant the seat beside her was usually left empty, no matter how many people got on the train. No one wanted to get close, just in case whatever was plaguing her was contagious.
Thus was her life. She would spend the day riding the train, then at night, when the last person had gotten off, she would stand and slip out. The floor around her seat was always spotless, much different from the mess the others left. She would use the facilities and slowly make her way home
It was just a small shack that had seen better days, but it was all she had. Her cats would greet her as she moved up the broken concrete of the sidewalk and she’d fix them all some dinner and tell them about her day. Sometimes the cats shared theirs, but she suspected that they slept most of it away in the bushes outside.
One day blended into the next. The faces changed, the seasons moved one to the other, but she was a constant. Regulars got used to seeing her and she became invisible.
It was a Tuesday, she hated Tuesday for no other reason than she was born on one and that seemed be reason enough to her way of thinking. Everything bad happened on a Tuesday. Her life was disrupted on Tuesday, death, birth, taxes, always on a Tuesday.
The stranger sat down on the aisle seat. It was getting towards the end of the day and more people were getting off than on. Mr. Bowler Hat had been in the aisle seat that day. She liked him because he kept to himself and often left the paper behind. She would pounce upon it and tuck it away safe, something to read in bed.
Despite there being many empty seats closer to the front, the person made his or her way, she couldn’t really tell, and sat beside her. She questioned herself about why anyone would do that. Why would they choose to sit with someone rather than be by themselves?
She coughed and sniffled. Usually that was enough to move someone, but not this someone. The figure sat still, spine straight as a rod, neither looking left or right. She wiped her nose with a much used handkerchief and returned to staring at the passing world. Two more stops and she’d be home.
The train slowed and that’s when she realized she was alone in the car. Her seatmate had vanished. For a moment she was concerned and then decided that she’d been enough and he’d not just moved seats, for she had decided it was a man, but had changed cars.
Then she saw the box. It was a plain cardboard box wrapped with twine. What was most unusual was that it did not have any markings. There was no shipping or return address. There were no postmarks or even a caution. It was as plain as it could be.
She waited for him to return, but the train pulled into her station, announced that it was the final stop and everyone had to get off. She climbed to her feet and glanced around. There was no one in any of the other cars that she could see.
If she left it, who knows what might happen. She decided that she would take it home and bring it back the next day. Surely by then, it would be missed.
She picked up the box and felt a warmth slowly start to envelope her arms. It was a most odd reaction from a box. With just a hint of excitement, she started home, not even pausing to use the facilities. What a story she had to share with the cats tonight!
It took nearly a week before anyone noticed that her corner was empty. A concerned citizen made an inquiry, and then another, until the police were forced to take up the search.
Finding where she lived wasn’t easy for she always paid cash for her ticket, but eventually their search led them to a small shack that had seen better days. The broken concrete of the sidewalk was overgrown with grass and weeds.
“Someone lives here?”
“That’s what the housing authority says.”
They got to the door and knocked. A large fluffy cat appeared from the bushes and hissed at him.
“Guess he told you.”
There was no answer and the more adventurous of the pair waded through the weeds and looked in through dirt-streaked glass. He gasped at what he saw.
“Call for back up and get the coroner out here.”
“Why? What’s wrong?” He reached for the doorknob.
“Stop!” The partner shouted. “Don’t open it!”
The man froze. “Why not?”
“Look!”
She was inside, sitting upright in a chair, still looking into the strange box on her lap. Plain brown paper and twine littered the floor around her feet. She’d obviously opened it quickly and peered into it with great excitement.
The fact that all the flesh and muscle was stripped from her face and hands gave her almost a comical look.
The box was empty.