Lacking Fragments: A Novel (Completed)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

If one day the world collapses—either out of an asteroid fall, nuclear wars, or dreadful climate change—I might still be on the way to my work, taking the train. 'What,' by now, you might say, 'the world is ending and you're talking about taking a train ride? Who are you? And how can one be so boring?'

     True enough. I'm kind of boring.

     In actuality, what I consider as of the moment could be someone else's case any day. Of you, me, or anyone. We could all be the same. It's not impossible, yes, and only what I mean is this: once one has been doing the same job for a year—in my case, two—the habit of waking in the morning to catch the train would be automatic. In Psychology, it'll be like the broad study of Pavlov. We'll be the salivating dog and our work will be the meat powder. Every time we hear our alarm clocks; every time we decide to get to work, we just be. Sooner or later, we eventually get used to the mundaneness of everyday life. Of how societal; of economical systems work, like how the mass these days accommodate a bad Internet novel in the mainstream media. Be it on normal days, or the day when the world ends, human existence can feel but one and the same.

     If so, then, anyone can be what you call 'boring' amidst the world collapsing. Anyone can be riding any sort of transportation vehicles when bombs have been dropped from the sky. Be it in the buses, cars, cable cars, zip lines, airplanes, or trains— at the end of all things, it wouldn't matter which one you were riding. We all die.

     But now, let me go back inside the train. Off my inflated thoughts.

     Including me, the passengers appeared to be wearing what's needed to be worn. That is, what most company at all times only allowed: something appropriate to the eyes of the norm. Also, inside the said transportation, I couldn't see anyone wearing something grandiose. Instead, I see professionalism in here and nothing more. Everyone, including me, was in their corporate attires: long-sleeved polos and pants for men, while blazers and either blouses or skirts for women.

     It was a normal day.

     Station by station the train would stop and gather a random number of passengers. From a few minutes to another, this increases the current count of the train's overall populace. Ergo, station towards stations, the remaining spaces inside get occupied by the new passengers. All the same, the train kept going onto its designated course. The train went on and on, filling almost every space remaining. Kind of getting hotter in here, too.

     Minutes passed. Stations passed.

     Eventually, us passengers got filled with workers and—now—students going towards their particular universities. Though due to the tight compression, I couldn't take a better look of neither their faces nor the occupied spaces themselves. The nearest shoulders, the nearest body shapes of strangers were all I could see.

     If one would ask for my opinion: nothing new here, too. As I said it was an ordinary day in a train: first, you take the ride with only a few passengers— mostly people like me, who were under particular corporations; second, as the train passes each station, it gets crowded until you can smell anyone's either perfume or bad odor. Best of luck if you are situated near the latter. I mean it. But in general, though, the smell really depends on the individuals nearest to where you're sitting or standing. One can't just choose who they'd ride with, always. People come; but not forever stay. So much like passengers arrive, and then they leave.