A minor incident
Nobody had noticed it. The subway hummed along, without too many passengers. It was Sunday morning, and most of the passengers were probably going to the stadium, for the game later. Of course, the odd youngster would be going home from being out all night.
It was a chilly, but beautiful day in spring. On days like that you could almost forget the woes and worries that you had, and you could almost forget about the turmoil in the world. Almost. And for the 50 or so passengers on this train, reality would kick in soon enough. Time was ticking, and everybody was speeding towards something. But not what they expected.
The train had just pulled out from a station, and was gaining speed. It happened very fast. A flash of light and a loud, deafening noise. Then, darkness, and as the passengers regained their hearing, there was the screaming. Cries for help. Prayers to gods that are not listening, or not there at all. A child calling its mother, who would never answer.
Help came later. After what seemed like an eternity, but probably wasn’t. The firefighters and the police and other rescue workers moved about quickly, moving about a business they had become all too expert at.
The news came on at noon, but had already been bumped down to the less important items by evening. After all, it was but a minor incident. The combination of it being Sunday morning, and some technical happenstance had made it that way.
But the child, crying for its mother: nothing in this world will ever make that a minor incident. Be it Sunday morning or not.
№ 1/1