Ebony

Ebony had decided that morning to take a bath. She rose from her bed, draped her silky rose dressing gown around herself and headed for the bathroom.

She turned on the hot tap. Then the cold to even out the water that was making a small pool in the bath immediately after she stuck the plastic black plug in its hole.

She stared in the mirror as the water ran in the background. She did not close the door. No need, no one was home. He was…elsewhere. She was tired she could see, circles under her eyes, pale skin, spots and lines and all manner of flaws on her face.

Ugly… was her thought.

She tied her hair in a bun and then her eyes met a beautiful array of bath salts and soaks. She selected a lavender soak and poured it into the bath tub. She added a few sea salts too for good measure. Then she lit a cinnamon candles and breathed in its sweet fumes. She had decided to have a bath that morning and it was going to be a luxurious one at that.

Outside, dreary weather loomed, clouds hanging heavy with rain yet to fall, no sunshine about. It was early March; the wind still hung around, annoying her so. She detested wind. The weather was not ‘disgustingly cold’ as she had called it in the middle of Winter, but it dragged on as Mother Nature made that slow lurch to Spring. It was almost as if Winter refused to go, even in the Spring it would still be cold some days. Ebony hated that.

She opened the curtains of the bathroom windows then lit an incense stick, she did not know what smell it was, but it was good. The smoke danced seductively in the now hot foggy air. The mirror steamed up. She turned off the hot tap, it had been the leader of the two, always was, she loved her baths hot. But now it was too hot, so she let the cool of the cold tap run, like a spring splashing the flesh on a hot day.

Finally, she turned off the cold tap and got inside the bath. She bathed casually, not really caring about washing. She did not shave her legs or under her arms but there wasn’t much growth. She instead laid back and closed her eyes. Thought of herself as a child, a child so excited for bath time with toys, bubbles and the dog pounding in to lick her wet face.

As if an invisible hand had yanked her away, she was brought back to reality.

She climbed out of the tub and dried herself with one of his towels. Sickened by his scent, she was quick at the task and she quickly dressed herself in her bedroom.

Having done that, she went back to the bathroom to apply a touch of make up to her face. Satisfied out of boredom and impatience, she quit at the mascara stage. She made a reference about ‘neglecting to care’ and walked out of the bathroom. She then pulled her hair out of its bun, to tie it up in a neat ponytail or… as neat as it could get.

When she passed through the living room at the corner of her eye she spied the piles of bills and unopened letters.

No matter.

She picked up her cigarettes from the kitchen window ledge. Lit one. Drew in the smoke. Again satisfied but only from habit, she walked into the living room and stared outside of the window. It was still grey outside, depressing.

She took her time putting on her jacket. Put out her cigarette.

The living room cabinet. A tall glass case of spirits. She selected the whisky, it does not matter what one. Put it in her bag.

Out the door. The front door.

A stroll. Through the fields that leads to the walkway that leads to the huge car park that takes you down another path, through a street and to the train station.

A journey.

At the station she lit another cigarette and bought a newspaper. She took interest in an article about a woman who was robbed, raped and then murdered somewhere in London.

Depressed, she abandoned the newspaper and flicked her cigarette. A man tutted as he walked by, she grinned.

At the station, she bought her ticket. She had chosen a random location.

She went back outside, lit a third cigarette and thought. Of things. Private things. How she hated her job, how she had no money to pay for bills, how her partner did not love her anymore, how she did not love him anymore, her family disappointed in her, her house a dump, messy now… she could not drive, she had no qualifications, stopped seeing friends long ago. How she had used his card to pay for her ticket.

“Is that okay?”

She turned, a man…young. Black hair, green eyes, suit, shined shoes, briefcase. So young. So accomplished.

A confused look from her.

“Sorry, I asked if I could borrow your lighter.”

She handed him her lighter from her pocket.

“Thank you, sorry to bother you.” He blew smoke from his lips. “You seemed quite deep in thought.”

A smile from her. But not complete. And not an invitation to talk. She turned away when he handed the lighter back to her. Thanked her again, she nodded in response, had turned her head only slightly to nod.

He was gone. His world. His life. Following his route, wherever that was. His world had collided with hers briefly. She did not care.

At the stand where she bought the newspaper she selected a pack of mints.

She sucked one and then crushed it with her teeth. Satisfied but momentarily, it did not last. Nor did it give her the pleasure it gave her when she was young. A child. A young child. She was young now as she stood, only mid- twenties.

She threw the rest of the mints away. A sickness had climbed into her stomach. Nerves perhaps.

A ray of sunlight peeped through the grey clouds and shone down upon her. A much younger version of herself would consider it to be God. God. Telling her things would be just fine. But she knew better now. Life was a trial, a heavy trial. A wasteland, a journey, a chain around your ankle. You can back out of it or keep going. There is no reward either way.

But she had tried to be strong. And every time she felt weak she had pictured children starving in third world countries. Or abused children in her country, raped, beaten, starved, living in foul conditions. She could not save them or the animals that were being killed for their fur, or the war, extremists, communism. Why cry then for them? But she did. She cried when she thought of the worlds suffering. Unable as she was to do anything. Give money to charity? She could not afford to live herself. What of those celebrities on television, telling you to give, give, give. She was sure some of them did, that they practiced what they preached but a lot did not.

Thoughts patrolled her mind.

Taxes. Bills. Rent.

And the time, when, affordably so, she was able to go into a shop and select a nice new outfit or some makeup, a bag, shoes… she didn’t. Stood there staring. What do I buy? Can I really afford it? Yes! No…

When she did have the chance, she didn’t know how to enjoy life.

Enjoy life. She scoffed.

Cancer. Sure, the world has risen from the slums of the 1400s, back when the ‘French Disease’ and leprosy was ripe and the real worry of life was wondering whether you’d survive childbirth. But now it’s a new set of demons. Now people were afraid of dying of cancer. Cancer. A problem that had been around since the beginning of man, only now do we seem to be dropping like flies from it and obviously it is because we now know what the fuck it is.

Dementia. Her Grandfather suffered it. Died from it. Oblivious he was of course but her Grandmother took the strain and the agony of his loss despite the fact what he was, had been, did not remain in that shell towards the end.

Take disease out of it. She scoffed again. Money. Love. Depression.

Now everyone has depression. Now mental illness was a fashion. Silly girls hiding in their rooms scraping a ruler on their skin and calling themselves ‘self -harmers’. Threatening suicide and yet showing the world proudly. An image of one of her friends at school flashed in her brain. A self confessed self harmer, who purposely by 'accident' of course, showed off her 'cuts'. Attention seeker came to mind. Ebony had abandoned her at some point in year-ten when she threatened to kill herself. Ebony had heard after some years that the same girl had made false claims regarding sexual abuse by her father.

Social justice, feminism, gender fluidity... she couldn’t even let her brain complete the thoughts. It was too much.

Racism. Everyone is racist. And anyone who denies it is lying. At some point, everyone uses skin tone as an attack but not the reason for the attack. It’s the ones who go too far that are the real demons. The ones who truly believe that skin color defines a person.

A voice slammed on the speakers. Her train. Due to arrive soon. She made her way to the platform.

At the platform opposite a child was screaming in her mother’s arms. Ebony rolled her eyes.

But other than the screaming brat, an old couple of women, a man in a grey suit… no one else.

Private.

It was strange, now she felt hot. Removed her jacket, placed it on the metal bench and pulled out the whisky from her bag. One long swig, burning down her throat, a dizziness approached her, her head in her hands.

“The train now approaching platform 4 does not stop here, please stand behind the yellow line.”

She stretched, rose, and casually walked the platform up and down.

The woman with the brat had consoled her child with false promises of toys and treats. The child now rested his head on her shoulder. The woman looked over at Ebony. Ebony looked back.

The train that did not stop at platform 4 passed. Its haunting sound hammering the station, deafening, cruel. The horn pulled.

Ebony used to like trains. But she tired of them when she begun using them more. She had begun using them more when she had moved home.

“The train now approaching platform 4 is a TFL to London Liverpool Street. Calling at…”

She had a song in her head; no relevance, Elvis. She hummed it for a bit. Then she walked to the edge of the platform and peered down the track. Her train was coming.

She took her ticket out of her pocket. Because maybe? A conductor would ask to see…? No.

Obesity, off work because they ate themselves fat.

Homosexuality, judged for what you may or may not do in the bedroom behind closed doors.

OCD, the condition we all have, whether it be checking the light ten times or having an even number of popcorn in your bowl.

Not now… too many things. Too many things. In a world where everyone was trying to label everything and everyone, Ebony was useless. Because she could dodge it as much as she liked. She could list the reasons why she hated the world as much as she wanted. This was about her.

And no one can save her now.

Because she didn't hate the world because of obesity, racism, rape, money, greed, sex, violence... she hated the world because she couldn't survive in a world like this. She knew not how to look on the brighter side or be thankful for what she has.

She was struggling to pay her bills, she had debts up to the ceiling. She hated her job, the slow struggle, the customers who wanted to talk, the managers who wanted to see skin torn from bone before they dare let a praise slip from their shriveled lips...

And her boyfriend. He told her two nights before how he had fallen out of love with her and how he was in love with some other woman.

The train approached. She took a few steps back. Behind the yellow line. Lest she would get told to do so by the man in uniform walking about.

She had once thought of working at a station. Once.

Once.

The train approaching. She took a few more steps back and looked at her jacket on the bench. She had forgotten about that. Such things to think of…

But now she wanted to be clear of thought. Opinion, anger.

He should surely be proud, if he exists? The creation of man, that creation that in turn created music… empathy, the empathy and love that humankind possess so deeply. But HE should also turn away from it with disgust. He tried again with Noah. But it happened again. He must curse himself for the wars, for the hatred and pain. The hunger, depravity of people. But what of love? Mankind cannot seem to control it. For as hatred spreads, so does love. He would scorn it, surely…. for nothing has ever felt so incredible yet nothing has ever hurt so much. It drives sane men crazy. For what? To watch your spouse grow old. Observe as the lines appear and the colour of the hair disappear?

Is there an afterlife?

Then she ran.

Train near, not too close.

Then it was close.

Good timing…

A leap. She was in the air. Briefly, above the tracks.

But then the trained passed. Not ready to halt. Too early to stop and take passengers.

Quick. Sharp. It passed.

And it took her. Swallowed her up.

Gone.