Long Night by Leah Hearne

I sprint through the station alone

racing towards the Morning Line train

while people scatter about:

Faces illuminated by phones,

coats dripping with rain

crowds weaving in and out.

The pure light of fluorescents

is unleashed by sliding doors,

I briefly check the time.

The escalator begins its ascent,

shoes squeak on the polished floors

and the clock reads eight-fifty-nine.

Before I can enter the subway

a voice mutters “mind the gap”

before the doors promptly slide shut.

The Morning Line has slipped away,

and after scanning the station’s map

my head echoes with “now what?”

Sighing, I lean against the wall

and watch as the hours slip by…

…ten, eleven, then finally midnight.

Darkness gracefully starts to fall,

and though there's no window to the sky,

the station feels bathed in moonlight.

As time passes, patient and numb,

I hardly notice how my presence

fades into 3:00am solitude.

Even if the Morning Line never comes

the station’s peaceful essence

fills me with an odd kind of gratitude.

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Leah Hearne is a high school creative writing student. Her work has previously been published on FreedomFiction.com and Yasou! A Celebration of Life.