Ros - Five Senses

'Let's wait for the next one,'  said Holly nervously as she watched the packed train rattle into Oxford Street Station.

'There's no point', replied Marie, it will be just as busy'.  Marie grabbed Holly's hand.  'Come on.'

Holly reluctantly followed, silently wishing she had heeded Marie's advice to wear different shoes; but they were awsome, the first really fashionable she had persuaded her  mother to let her have.  The heels were a mile high and the red leather shone like Italian glass. She imagined all London girls would be similarly attired.

The shoes were the first casualties.  As Holly ran blindly following Marie her heel caught in a crack on the platform. In her panic Holly tugged it out roughly and, although there was no time to inspect the damage, she knew that damage there was.  Breathing rapidly she launched herself onto the train and immediately they were swallowed up by the mass of humanity. They squirmed like eels, under arches of  arms through non-existent gaps, brushing past bulging briefcases and a woman hugging an awkward basketweave bag.  This time it was Marie who suffered; she scratched her arm on the basketwork and had to disengage a thread of her jumper which had become looped around a spike of straw.

At last Marie gauged that they had struggled enough.  She clasped an overhead rail.  Her  hand joined an assorted range of other hands, one white with glossy nails, another brown and slender.  She would have liked to have rescued one of the free papers which had been tossed away, cluttering up the space between seat and windows; but she couldn't reach one. Holly insinuated her arm between a velvety faux fur jacket and  a harsh school blazer to discover a slippery hand hold.  A long arm reached over her and fastened on a position above  her head.  She wrinkled her nose in distaste as the unmistakable whiff of sweat assaulted her nostrils.  There they stood, face to face, hip to hip, toe to toe; intimate yet aloof from the citizens of the world whose lives collide  for a few short miles on London's underground.

The train lurched into life and with it the passengers.  Try as she might Holy couldn't prevent her body bumping into the fur jacket. It tickled and she sneezed as she inhaled a mixture of fur and cheap perfume. In turn the boy in the blazer turned pink and apologised as his head connected with Holly's bouncing bosom.  Holly attempted to communicate with Marie but her soft voice was no match for the cacophony of competing sounds.  Above her head two suited and booted princes of commerce discussed in booming voices the price of shares and the muted sounds of West Llife leaked from an iplayer clamped to a nodding head. Wedged beside her, two girl backpackers conducted an animated discussion in a language Holly couldn't understand The rest of the carriage, studiously pretending that they were quite alone, read, dozed  or texted. Below, feet tapped or shuffled and  shopping bags creaked. In the back ground, enveloping them all,  the thrumming rhythmn of the train, as it raced along, could be heard.

With no warning the carriage was suddenly plunged into darkness.  Just as quickly the lights flickered back on.  Nobody else seemed to notice, but  Holly's stomache turned a somersault and the bitter taste of bile rose in a throat.  They were in the bowels of the earth a place of potential interrment.  Holly shuddered.