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Clothed in Daylight |
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Ashley is an Adelaide-based writer with a yearning to grow an extra finger on each hand. Twelve fingers are far more practical than ten for counting months, eggs, and the days of Christmas. See <http://ashleyarnold.com.au> for more stuff by Ash.
They came for me at the train station, clothed in full daylight. I could see them when no one else could: shadows flocking and darting bird-like. Different creatures had attacked me from time to time in the past, but this was the first for the flock of shadows. The anonymity of the passengers — usually an advantage when phantasmal creatures attack — worked against me. I stood in a crowd yet had no herd protection. The other passengers scurried from my fearful grunts and too-wide eyes. They came for me in full daylight. As they attacked I flung at them my only weapon, a half packet of Strepsils. Flung erstwhile, but no defence. The shadow birds pecked at my eyes. I flailed clockwise and fell from the platform to the cold parallelism of the tracks below. The 8:37 express train appeared. The shadow birds stretched me horizontal across the tracks. I buckled and twisted, froth shooting fountainous upwards from my mouth — little rocket ships doomed to fall back to Earth. Above, the crowd watched with their arses in their mouths. I heard the screech of brakes, metal on metal, the horn blast. No way could that train stop. After all, express trains aren’t there to fuck spiders. Desperate, I bit deep into one of the shadow birds as it flashed past. The taste of oily bitter almond filled my mouth. It shrieked and shattered. The rest of the flock startled and fled. I rolled free of the tracks with the sound of screeching metal castrating my ears. The train passed. The creatures raced away and left me unharmed, but clothed in full daylight and explaining to transit police why I appeared to throw myself on the tracks and roll around like the possessed. Transit police abhor anonymity.
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