PROJECT SPARTA

CHAPTER 5

Arlington, VA

2016

It was an everyday – one where people kept to themselves and milled about their business. Melissa Haynes was no different as she pushed her baby stroller down 15th Street North toward the Courthouse metro stop. She often took the metro into the city to stroll across the National Mall. She enjoyed the smell of the fresh cut grass there, the sounds of children playing on the Carousel, lost tourists photographing everything and the towering sights of the Smithsonian and Capitol. She thought it to be America's Front Yard and could feel the city's pulse beat beneath her feet.

As always, she brought her fifteen-month-old son Benny along. Benedict Michael was his real name but she thought Benny sounded cute for a kid. He was just now popping teeth so drool continually flowed down his chin. Melissa wore large sunglasses to hide the bags under her eyes from the late night required from her son's teething. Benny gnawed on his hands as if digging for the crusted peanut butter in the cracks of his fingers. Now that Benny was of the age to sit outwards, he observed the scenes passing by him with his little teddy - the one he had to take everywhere. His mother had to sew on his left eye, because Benny's teething had gotten the best of it. It was a patch up job - a temporary fix until his second fang sprouts. Melissa sauntered her way toward the Metro elevator.

The elevator dinged as its doors opened. Melissa boarded with the stroller as her thoughts wandered into the trivialities of the day.

Pot Belly's sandwich. Yum. Screw Atkins. Bread is good. Another celebrity DUI... Why do all child entertainers end up going off the deep end by the time they can drive?

"You're never going to drive and leave your mommy, are you Benny?" She had the chance to lean down to him and finish her thought through a wide smile. Benny cracked a gummy smile, releasing the floodgates of drool at the sight of his mother. She snatched up his little teddy and before he could cry, she started burying the teddy's nose in his neck. Benny giggled the cutest thing she had ever heard.

As soon as the elevator opened Melissa felt the settling breeze from the stationed orange train heading to New Carrollton open for boarding. She jumped alive at the chance to board, scurrying across the station platform with the stroller. She darted through the closing doors of the train at the last second, stumbling into a stranger. She gazed up at the tall man, who had caught her with a smile and somehow managed to dodge the stroller.

"I'm sorry sir!"

"You're fine..." he responded, entertained by the scene before him.

"Thank God I wore flats today!" – receiving a response of chuckles from nearby passengers. As usual on such a normal day people drifted off to their own detailed thought, keeping interaction at as low of a level as possible.

People watched people.

Wondering about the lives each lived.

Melissa's eyes found a young tanned man with a black speckled beard across his jaw. He looked college-aged and disturbed by something as his lips formed quick silent words over and over again. His eyes immediately clung to the ceiling, revealing beads of sweat dripping down the side of his head. The growing stream of perspiration inched its way from temple to jaw line. And then his saddened eyes fell to Benny in the stroller.

That's weird the A/C is cranked up in here. Why is he sweating? Why is he checking his watch? He must be late for something... Why is he looking at Benny like that?

The automated machine sounded throughout the train. "The train is arriving at Rosslyn, next stop Foggy Bottom." The passenger started huffing and puffing mantras in Arabic. The volume grew louder along with the stirring panic in the train, until it all stopped in a suspended moment. Silence followed by three quick sounds.

A battle cry.

A click.

A boom.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

An old man perched on a stool outside of Rosslyn station was blowing into his harmonica with a strong vibrato. He made it sing like the old crooners he grew up with. He listened for the chime of coins in his donation bucket but none came. The song was an original named "Freedom" and nobody noticed as they went about their scheduled day. Old Man Cyrus was what they called him, an African American who brought blues up from Louisiana to DC, a culture he felt was in need of better musical roots. Cyrus broke from his long melodic note into a rushing and puffing blues rhythm – tapping the percussion out on the sidewalk with his boot. The percussion began its crescendo, from a tap to a kick to a stomp.

On his third stomp, the ground raised up underneath him, knocking him off his bucket. A loud blast had exploded out onto the street. Screams rang through the underground and grey smoke billowed up and out of Rosslyn station. A stampede of people erupted out of the station, covered in ash from head to toe, tripping over each other, wailing and crying in terror.

Cyrus was too old to run. Instead, he slowly found his feet and collected his change bucket. He awaited the panic mob to thin out. When he saw an opening he sidled his way down into the station, shocked by the scene before him. Old Man Cyrus sidestepped stragglers and the wounded as he made his way through the smoke, waving his hands to break the thick smog.

Heat began creeping up his body as he continued down the crooked and broken escalator. The smell of burning flesh stung his nostrils,causing him to raise an elbow to cover his mouth. As the cloud of smoke migrated further into the station, the sight of the eastbound train came into view. It was a shell. A contortion of twisted metal, the center of which was a flame. As the sirens sounded in the background, Old Man Cyrus knelt down to say a prayer when he noticed something before him. He wiped away the layers of soot that had collected on his eyes and picked up what lay at his feet. It was a teddy bear, half of which was missing, reduced to ash - the other half looked up at Cyrus through one eye, hanging loose by a thread.    

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