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WHEN REALITY STRIKES

He sauntered down the familiar path he took every single day of his young life. He moved here to the

city of wonder as his mom got a new job a writer in a new town; it was like a start over for his familylike a turn to a new page. Though he passed this corner twice as a day, he meandered his way to the

subway station like a European tourist finding his way through the city of Beijing. The night was

tenebrous; the wind devastatingly drifted through his hair like a hunter chasing his prey in the forest.The street was devoid as he was crossing to reach the subway stairs. The clocked ticked ten. Somehow,

the ding of the bells reminded him of the story his mom incessantly used to tell in character, about a

man who was murdered. One night on his way home, when he was taking the subway.

Flashbacks hit him like burglars in a grocery store. So quiet and unexpected but much was damaged.

The crooked platform door opened. The subway station was dominated by the silence of an empty

night. Edward could hear himself snuffling. The crowded and overly disturbing subway of everydaywas not there; it was as deserted as ever. The white tiles seemed lonely now that it was not

surrounded by thousands of companions waiting for the trains or entertained by the many talents of

Manhattan trying to make a living. He could hear the creak from the bathroom door being loathly

pushed by the wind. The putrid smell of the railway as the Red Line crossed. It was followed by plasticbags and posters just drifting through the railway mindlessly wanting to start again. Two more trains

away from his loving home!

His body quivered, wakened from the melancholy trail of thoughts. It was not his snuffling sound that

he was hearing anymore. Footsteps were approaching. The distinguished sound of footsteps were not

from a single figure there were more than one. Three ambiguous figures appeared. One was bold andtall and two others were short but muscular. Edward was prepared to run. What if they were dangerous

men he thought.

What if... he whisperedA vision of the dead man in the story he was told, the murder in his dream overwhelmed him; but his

trail of paranoia stopped.They are just late workers he repeatedly reassure himself.Besides, they're on the other side of the platform he thought.

From a far distance, their vague figures seemed to be very serious. As if they were on a mission.

Dressed in black with hats and shades, Edward couldn't tell who they were. It was the Manhattansubway, no one comes here only once or twice, riders at this hour are the frequent ones. He figured he

should notice them around, but he decided to keep quiet.

Suddenly the footsteps accelerated. They came closer and closer. He panicked. Behind the platform hewent, listening carefully. There was a significant beat in the footsteps and it seemed to be faster than

the original three he heard before. A low murmur came from the men in black.

Edward clasped on to his bag when the light hit him. It was sudden and bright but gentle. The wind

walked through him like a ghost invisible but he could feel it. The vacant seats on the rusted metal

block eased his mind. The first wagon passed; the deafening sound continued and Edward was reliefedand he knew two down and one more train to go. Through the gap, he could see now, four figures

instead of three. Curiosity overwhelmed his thoughts and it motivated him to take a step closer but his

common sense stopped him.

A retort made him trembled.

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As the last wagon passed by, he was standing there frozen like an antique sculpture in horrified

expression in at the Gugenheim. Thousands of possibilities, worst case scenarios flashed before his

tinted blue eyes. What could it be? Was it what he thought it was? He forced himself to be strong andstood up but he couldn't twitch.

He remembered what he heard was just a sound. A short but haunting noise; he was denying it. Itcouldn't be. It couldn't be a gun shot. The subway, seemed like a border between life and death rather

than the crowded place for lower classes of society to move from place to place. It was now a lair for

the crime to be committed rather than home for the ones less fortunate; rather than a stage for street

performers.

He saw it happened. He witnessed it before his eyes. He stood there like a blood thirsty spectator at a

gladiator game. The fallen victim lied on the concrete. He saw the man more clearly now. The man waspale and of average height. Somewhat, he resembled Edward's father. He was lying there so peacefully,

so mindlessly without a single hint that he was dead.

Edward snapped out of it.

Accepting the truth, Edward got up on to his feet. His fingers were still frozen and he could feel his

legs shaking but with great effort he tried to move forward. Checking his watch, he knew, the next trainwouldn't come for another ten to fifteen minutes. He was examining the platform for a way to get

through to the other side. No stairs, nothing seemed to be helpful.

Taking a deep breath, Edward threw his bag down to the ground with a thud. As fast as he could, he

jumped down to the railway without hesitation; and ran towards the man's direction, coming closer,

what a man was wearing became clearer to him. Reaching the other platform, he climbed up like a welltrained mountain climber.

The yankees jacket looked familiar to him he had the same one. It was similar to the one he and hisdad both own. The late nights they stayed up to watch the games. The hustle they both experienced

trying to find their seats at the stadium, he remembered. All the great memories he had of his dad

before he left. The night he said he'll be back but never did.

Young man, you have to keep mommy happy whilst I'm away for a few days okay? he rememberedthe last words his dad whisper the night he left. Edward reached for his phone as he heaved the body

upward.

His heart stopped; the dead man in his arms was his father.