An Outsider

George

“The train to London International Airport has run into unexpected technical problems. There will be a delay for two hours. We apologize for the inconvenience.”

The artificial woman’s voice was barely noticeable over the loud noise that was a London Underground station during rush hour. Next to him a mother was desperately trying to calm her crying child. A few metres to his left a group of college boys were discussing a test they had been handed back earlier this day. Hidden partially behind a sign, a foreign couple seemed to be confused about the London Underground map.

Amongst all these people sat a dark haired young man. He was holding tightly onto a blue suitcase and a black backpack, with a duck plush dangling from one of the zippers, in his lap. He had his phone in one of his hands, texting someone, as a small smile was etched onto his face.

Someone sat down on the seat right next to the young man, the businesswoman previously occupying the seat standing and leaving in a rush to get onto one of the oncoming trains.
The new person, another young man, who had just sat down, leaned his head against the wall, closing his eyes and appearing deep in thought. A pair of cheap headphones, probably from a giveaway, in his ears and swaying slightly to the rhythm of whatever song he was listening to. He had his hands deep in the pockets deep in the pockets of his dark coat, his shoes were worn out, but still looked nice and well-loved.

A pigeon landed between the two men and began picking at a leftover bun someone must have dropped earlier. The man in the coat leaned down to carefully pet the bird on its small head. He was smiling as he slid his finger over the shining feathers of the feathered creature.

His actions earned him a judgemental glance from the man with the blue suitcase.

But he just simply smiled back at the other, wiping his hand off on the already stained yellow jumper of his. Something crinkled in one of the man’s pockets as he moved to take out one of his earbuds. Leaning over to possibly speak with the man with the blue suitcase, he was nearly uncomfortable close to the other in order for the man to be able to hear him over the noise.

The pigeon the man in the coat hat petted, hopped over the man with the blue suitcase, picking at his shoes, trainers from some no-name brand either new or well kept. Looking up from his phone. Looking up from his phone, the man lightly kicked his foot to get the bird away from his shoe and be left alone. Laughter could be heard from the other man as the bird immediately hopped back to inspect the shoelace.

Excusing himself for laughing, the man in the coat introduced himself as Wilbur Soot, an editor who was on his way to pick up a co-worker and friend of his from the airport.

In return the man with the blue suitcase introduced himself as well, telling Wilbur that his name was George and that he also was on his way to the airport, albeit to actually fly himself in order to meet up with an online friend of his who lived in Mexico, and that normally he worked as a game developer for a small indie company, but was currently on break from aforementioned meet-up.

Wilbur had a sad smile on his face as George went on about how excited to finally meet up with his friend. A sad knowing smile.

On the other side of the train station, one of the Underground lines pulled to a halt. As the train spewed out people of all ages and in various stages of hurry, the artificial voice of the woman could be heard again.

“The line to Victoria Park will be delayed for 15 minutes due to wildlife on the track. WE apologize for your inconvenience.”

A silence fell between the two men,the place around them still loud and bold in its actions and conversations. Someone was kicking and yelling at a vending machine, a father frantically looking for his daughter, asking passerbys if they had seen her and a teenage girl was sobbing as she looked down at her phone.

As time passed without another conversation starting up between the two men, Wilbur was humming along to a song. Despite not knowing what the lyrics were, George felt as if he was being comforted by someone who was crying themself. Embracing someone as the two of you soaked each other's shirts in tears. It was a feeling like nothing else he had felt before.
The clock above showed that there was still over an hour left before the train was supposed to arrive. The air felt heavier and the climate in the station was like the small layer of sweat that gathered on the benches in the gym changing rooms. George kept adjusting his seating position.

Finally he seemingly gave up and asked his fellow traveller about the song he had been humming. But Wilbur just smiled his sad smile again and told George that he wouldn’t like the answer he would get.

Ominous, but George didn’t press on further.

Wilbur continued to hum for a while, before standing up and holding out a hand for George. He levelled with him that it was too long of a waiting time and that there was a small shop that sold pretzels with butter and chives not too far away. As George went to deny his hunger his stomach grumbled. With a defeated smile he took the hand offered, collected his belongings and followed Wilbur.

The two men held light conversations about God as they walked through the station, Wilbur shivering despite the coat he was wearing. His finger had a slight blue tint to him that had gone unnoticed before.

After getting their pretzels WIlbur had led them both to a bench right next to a big dying potted plant, as George had jello legs and his entire body seemed to be hurting. He joked about getting too used to sitting all day at his job and now on his travels too. WIlbur just smiled his sad knowing smile.

A man was playing guitar near them. A song that to George felt as though someone was crying, people passing by, but no one stopping to ask if the person was doing alright. A feeling of utter loneliness while you were surrounded by people. And just like the feeling from earlier it was nothing he had experienced before.

While the two were eating their pretzels away, there was a growing feel of uneasy rising within George. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something that tipped the alarm bells in his head. He went over his list of things to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything important back at his apartment, although it was too late now anyways to run back and get it.

The guitarist was still playing the same song. Had it not ended or had he just started again?

There was a melancholy that was layered over the whole of the train station. It felt almost like George was drowning it, the feeling so overwhelming and suffocating, his bones aching. And it has been ever present since the announcement of his train being delayed. Ever since Wilbur had sat down next to him. Ever since he had first heard this maddening song.

He wanted to cry and never be seen again. The ache in his bones felt heavier at that. His fingers twitched uncomfortably. The world feels like a thick syrup around him.

Wilbur pulls him in a slightly awkward side-hug. His body is cold, almost unnaturally so, notes George, but the gesture is appreciated nonetheless. It was nice having some physical touch after living alone in a crammy London apartment for the better part of two years.

His body aches so much. His arms hurt, his legs hurt and his back hurts. The pain is no longer just a dull reminder of terrible posture, but active pain, like George had broken a bone. The pain is burning, eating through his body.

A tear runs down his cheek. And another. And another. And suddenly he is crying in a train station filled with people, but at this moment that wasn’t of any concern to George.

Wilbur whispered calming words into his ears, but he just couldn’t make any of them out. Blood was rushing in his ears, both from crying, from the pain and everything felt muffled around him.

The stupid song was still playing. The same melancholic song, weeping with unheard pain. Weeping with no one to hold. Crying out to the public, alone and forgotten. George felt the pain. He could understand the feeling.

The feeling of being embraced by someone crying. Of crying out loud, with no one around hearing you. He felt so alone.

George didn’t know how long he sat in Wilbur’s arms on the bench. Didn’t know if the other ever stopped his whispering and muttering. Didn’t know if he had missed his train by now. Didn’t know when Wilbur had moved to fully embrace him. Everything was just too much.

His sobbing slowly died down. The pain subsided to the dull ache it started out as. It still hurt, but it was something that felt like he could handle it. Needed to be able to handle it.

Lifting his head from Wilbur’s shoulder, he didn’t know when he had buried his head there, Wilbur was stranger to him, he saw a big clock hanging from the side of the wall.

Even with the delay, with all the time they used to have, he had missed his train.

He had- he had missed his train.

Which meant he wouldn’t be able to get to his flight in time, which meant that he would either have to dismiss the trip they had been planning for for months now.

Looked into Wilbur directly into his eyes, he told him exactly that. In fact, George went on that they now both had missed the train and how sorry he was for holding Wilbur up, because now he wouldn’t be able to pick up his co-worker. And then he nearly started crying all over again.

Wilbur stood up very carefully slowly. Seemingly mindful of the fact that George's whole body felt like an elephant had run him over. Twice. But that couldn’t be.

He followed Wilbur with his eyes. Not quite ready to let the stranger, was Wilbur really a stranger anymore, go. Curled up on the bench, George watched as Wilbur went for one of the newspapers, paid for it and came back.

He came back. To George.

Wilbur sat down again. The newspaper folded up in such a way that George couldn’t see the title page. He looked George directly into his eyes. The slight smile that George had noticed all the time, completely gone from his face.

Silently Wilbur handed him the newspaper.

Fatal Train Fire - 89 Dead

West London. Yesterday during the rush-hour a terrible disaster happened on the piccadilly line. Due to a technical malfunction, sparks flew and a fire was ignited that engulfed the last waggon of the line. The fire spread fast through the polster of the seats. Reports say that by the time the driver had been able to pull the line to an emergency stop, people had already died at the hands of the flames. Passagiers in the front two waggons were able to leave unharmed, with some of the passagier from wagon three having minor injuries, but the entire wagon four was engulfed in flames.

The fire department came quickly, but they weren’t able to put out the fire quickly enough. 89 people died from the flames or the smoke in the air. Amongst the victims were 21 minors, with 9 being younger than eight.

The London Underground released a statement just a few hours after the incident, excusing themselves, saying that the fire happened due to a mechanical error due the train on that line being an older model.

“George. You were amongst those people. You died.”