tuesday 03:21, by Laura Tavasse

the night fog looks golden

strangely sun-warm

behind the platform light. it’s not

as if she hasn’t been here before but

it feels like a parallel universe

every time.

no-one is here besides

the automated voice announcing

departures and the smoking ban

with eerie patience. she’s freezing

down to her curled toes

willing the train to outsmart

the announcer, and arrive too


it’s so tempting to just

walk away, following the rails but

the light ends just about five steps

from here. a freight train

suddenly hits the air and


through the station, making her hair

whirl around her cheeks. it takes

far too long for it to pass and

looking at the other side through

the wagon gaps feels like


too fast. as the last one passes

she thinks it’s going to pull her


like a vacuum, directly, violently

and she remembers wondering if

that would be so bad. it would be


not a decision she made. but the

announcement reassures her it’s

already ten past and

if she moves, she’ll

miss her train.


Published 22nd December 2018


About Laura Tavasse

Laura Tavasse was born in Vienna and is stubbornly holding on to the idea of writing a book one day. Meanwhile, she spends her days studying something completely different, frowning at people on the evening train and waving at security cameras. 
Twitter: @venetiana_