Train
Man, what a long day it had been. So many terribly written emails to respond to. So many arrows to siam. Another day. Now Roger was on the train, idly scrolling through his Instagram feed. It was the same as always, of course – sunsets, vacation photos of his friends on nearby islands, buildings, selfies from nights out. It was really the same thing, over and over again. Why was he scrolling? What was he hoping to see? Nothing in particular. He was just looking to pass the time on his daily commute.
Ugh, the commute. The same old bloody commute. Every morning he’d step out of his flat, get into the lift, go downstairs, walk to the bus stop and wait for the bus. Then he’d get on the bus, tapping his EZ link card (Beep!) and ride it to the MRT station. He’d tap out again (Beep!), and then walk through the faceless crowd of everyday Singaporeans, young and old, male and female to get to the train. He’d tap his wallet (with his EZ-link card in it) on the gantry (Beep!), then he’d take the escalator up to the platform where the trains would come.
The disembodied female voice of the train would call to him every day. They changed the voice a few years ago, and that train announcer lady passed away. Now it was some new lady. He wasn’t sure who it was, but he heard her every single day. “Doors closing,” she’d say chirpily. “Thank you for travelling with SMRT.”
(I would add a bunch of details – train model number, construction details, things to make it all seem more technical and mechanical)
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Roger took the train so often, he never actually needed to pay attention to where the train actually was. He would board the train at one-north, and he would subconsciously just know when he was at Bishan. Bishan MRT station was an interchange, where lots of people would get off the train, so he could typically tell from the body language of other passengers that he was at his stop.
(elaboration – he idly got out of the train like he normally does, walks the path that he normally walks, takes the escalator up…
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He went to the control panel.
“Excuse me, I’m very sorry, but I have a problem.”
The old malay uncle looked up at him kindly.
“Yes, boy, what is your problem?”
“I… can’t seem to get out of the train station.”
“Oh, your first time at Bishan? I know it’s a bit confusing. You just need to go that way, turn left, then walk down all the way and take the escalator up.”
“Ya, I did that already. But when I took the escalator up, I ended up back here.”
The man tilted his head forward to look at him from above his old spectacles, eyebrows slightly furrowed.
Ya… he’s not going to believe me, Roger thought.
“Cannot be lah. Have you been drinking or something, boy? Or maybe you are unwell?”
Roger realised he that he might have a way out.
“Actually ya lah, uncle, I today got quite a high fever. Very giddy ah. Don’t know what I doing, don’t know what I saying. Scared I any minute going to faint.”
The man looked him up and down. “Okay okay, better be careful. I don’t want any accident. I call the…
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He needed to talk to somebody. He was going insane. Was this a bad dream? If he was having a nightmare, why couldn’t it at least be an interesting, exciting nightmare? Maybe he could be trapped in space, or out at sea, or in some medieval fantasy… anything other than the goddamn MRT. The whole system suddenly seemed so sinister – like a vast prison of steel and glass.
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“If you see any suspicious looking person or article, please inform our staff or press the emergency communication button located at the side of the train doors.”
All his life, he had pondered what would happen if somebody actually hit the button.
He hit the button.
“Uh, hello?”
Some of the other passengers looked up from their phones quizzically.
“Hi, I am having a problem. I tried to get off the train ah, but then went I went up the escalator, I was on the platform again. I don’t know how to get out. Please help me.”
“Sir, is this a prank?”
“No, no. I am a law abiding citizen. I would never try anything funny like this. I just want to go home. But I have been on the train for over an hour now, I think, and I am still here.”
Roger knew as he was saying it that there was no way anybody was going to believe him. But fuck it, so what?
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“Attention please, help keep our stations and trains clean. Please do not eat in stations or onboard trains. Thank you.”
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His phone had run out of battery. His stomach was growling. The train was empty. He got out.
Was this a bad dream?
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How to conclude? What do I want to happen to Roger? The infinite train is a metaphor for the rat race, the stifling nature of civilization. So how should it end? Should I increase the tension, or reduce it? Is there a way out? Does the horror claim Roger as a victim of an infinite hell, in some Black Mirror way?