The subway train was on fire when it arrived and every carriage was packed full of writhing forms all begging for the doors to open. Melting hands frantically slammed against the release button as if the mechanics behind it wouldn't have burnt like the lights above already had.
The exhausted commuters on the platform just watched and waited for either the doors to open or the train to leave. Some of them would take this train and never be seen outside of it again while others would go home and fall asleep, dreaming of burnt tracks and smoke-filled stations.
The doors did not open for this stop. Not this time, at least. As it began to pull away, as the screams of the passengers rose to a near unbearable level, as their burnt and bloodied hands pounded against the windows, the waiting commuters breathed a sigh of relief.
Though they would go home smelling like cooked meat and pollution, they were going home.
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