Somebody is sitting in her seat.
It’s the best seat on the train. It’s in carriage five out of nine – precisely in the middle – whose doors open directly into the beauty store where she works. It’s the only individual seat in the carriage, facing forwards, and by the window. She likes to watch the deep purple dawn fade to peach pink as they near the City’s glittering skyscrapers. She likes to nod good morning to the young unicyclist across the aisle and listen to the old man hum as he plays his cat’s cradle. She likes this journey, this routine.
The person in her seat is a young woman. Her hair is glossy and straight, her long legs delicately crossed. The high heels on her feet are midnight black and pointed like arrows.
‘Excuse me,’ she says to the young woman, ‘you’re in my seat.’
‘No, I am not.’
‘This is where I sit.’
‘No, it is not.’
She looks at the unicyclist. ‘Excuse me? Could you please tell this woman that she is in my seat?’
The unicyclist does not acknowledge her. He continues to pedal his unicycle back and forth.
‘You need to sit somewhere else now,’ the young woman says.
‘I want to sit here.’
‘That is not possible.’
‘I want to speak to the Guards.’
‘They won’t help you, Karen.’
‘Very funny. I know what you’re doing.’
‘I am simply doing as instructed.’
Her phone buzzes in her pocket. It will be her husband with some question about their son’s round teeth or their daughter’s depressed ferrets. She ignores it.
‘See,’ the young woman smirks, ‘you don’t even have time for this job.’
‘What?’
And then she realises. The young woman is wearing the beauty store’s uniform.
No, her uniform. Her skirt which she dyed her own personal shade of mauve. Her hand-embroidered blouse. Her name tag. Hello, my name is: Mia.
‘Why are you wearing my clothes?’ Mia asks.
‘I am not wearing your clothes.’
‘Those are my clothes. That’s my name tag.’
‘No, these are my clothes.’ She pulls a hand mirror from her bag and applies some bright green lipstick.
‘That’s not the approved colour,’ Mia says.
‘Yes, it is. See, your eyesight is not working properly. You cannot do this job anymore.’
‘But I’ve done this job for twenty years. I have hundreds of regulars. I formulated my own line of eyeshadows. I developed an entirely painless waxing technique.’
‘None of that is important.’
‘Take off those clothes right now.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Give them back to me!’
‘Don’t make a scene.’
Mia waves at the old man with the cat’s cradle. ‘Hello, sir? You see me every day. Would you please tell this woman that these are my clothes?’
He continues playing his game and humming his song.
Mia looks around at the other people in the carriage, their heads bowed and bobbing with the movement of the train. ‘Can anyone help me, please?’
Not a single head reacts.
‘You are making people uncomfortable,’ the young woman says.
‘Nobody’s looking. Get out of my seat.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t do that.’
‘Right, that’s it.’
‘I would advise you not to–’
Mia goes to grab the young woman’s arm, but two enormous Guards appear either side of her and she cannot move. Her body is tight and rigid, as though she has been restrained with invisible rope.
‘What’s happening?’ she asks, but the Guards do not respond. Slowly, they walk down the aisle and into the next carriage, pulling her along with them.
Mia looks at the young woman as she is dragged away. ‘Why?’ she cries. ‘Why have you done this?’
‘I told you. I am simply doing as instructed,’ the young woman replies, settling back into her seat.
The Guards deposit Mia in a group of six seats in carriage four. It is unpleasant here. The air conditioning is blasting and the sound of the train on the tracks is loud and grating.
The occupants of the carriage are all women. All staring diligently ahead, all with their jackets wrapped tight around their shivering bodies.
‘Hello,’ the woman sitting opposite Mia says. Her face is heavily lined and her eyes are indigo like the sky. ‘We’ve been expecting you.’
‘What?’
‘We’re the back-office staff,’ another woman says.
‘Welcome,’ the whole carriage says.
‘But I don’t want to work in the back office,’ Mia says. ‘There must be another choice.’
The woman with the indigo eyes thinks for a moment.
‘Well, you could get off the train,’ she says. ‘But it has not been done.’
‘How would I do that?’ Mia asks.
The woman points to a red lever next to the window.
‘Nobody has ever pulled the lever,’ the carriage says.
Mia stands and braces herself. She stretches up on her toes and summons all her strength to pull the heavy lever down, down, down.
The train slows, spits and sputters, then groans to a halt. The doors creak open, revealing endless open fields. Mia jumps down from the carriage onto the soft grass.
‘Will you come with me?’ she asks the woman with the indigo eyes.
‘Not today. Perhaps tomorrow I will go.’
‘Yes, perhaps tomorrow,’ the carriage echoes, as the doors close and the train speeds away.
There is a lone blossom tree in the distance. Mia watches its brilliant blue petals blowing gently in the breeze for a while. Then she begins to walk towards its sweet scent.