Endless Cycle by Sean Mackaay

Author:Sean Mackaay
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: literary, terrorism, anarchy, experimental, punk, kafkaesque
Publisher: Sean Mackaay

I doubt any of the commuters can hear me as I lean in and whisper to John, “This has been done.”

“Time and time and time again, and the repetition is because it works”, there is a logic that I find hard to fault as he continues, “cities rely on transport, trains in particular. It works, mass capacity and no screening process.”

A man stands in the aisle of the train, quaintly called the ‘skytrain’ by the drones of this city. He sweats profusely, possibly due to lack of proper air conditioning, possibly due to his hulking frame. A product of the food processing plants of this nation. One gargantuan paw, lifted above his head, grips tightly around a hand rail, his arm making sure that this titan maintains his balance, a fall surely requiring construction equipment to right.

He stares, intently, at a woman, nay a girl, of perhaps 19. The girl is dressed to sell merchandise, a by-product of my generation where woman=sex=sells ad nauseum. She has noticed the unsubtle nature his desperate eyes speak. Such is the nature of the Canadians that without a murmur she averts her eyes out the window, hoping to get lost in whatever music she has chosen for the journey home, hoping that the next stop is his destination.

These are the commuters of the 5.15pm rush, 100 parallel narratives converging in one place, by 7.00pm they have diverged once more. Not once do they enter one another’s stories. Put in the headphones, turn up the volume, block out the sound of the rails, the sounds of other functioning bodies, the sounds of your own pulse, breath, thoughts. No need to be alone, have a one sided conversation with John Lennon, Roger Waters, David Bowie, Kurt Cobain, Jarvis Cocker, Kylie Minogue.

As the train pulls in to a station John stands and tells me to keep riding, he will be in touch. As the doors start their silent closing, his forefinger and thumb in a circle touching his forehead, he says, “Be seeing you.”

With that I am transfigured from man to number. Call me Number Six.

****

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