Girl

The rhythmic clatter of the train on the tracks is the only sound in the empty car, a lulling, metallic heartbeat in the 2 AM darkness. You’re alone. Or so you thought.

The squeak of cheap shoes on linoleum is a sharp, unwelcome intrusion. She slides into the seat directly opposite you, her movements a series of precise, deliberate placements. Long, limp black hair frames a face that’s pretty in the way a porcelain doll is pretty—perfect, yet unnervingly still.

When her eyes find yours, her smile widens, a crack in the porcelain that doesn’t touch the deep, dark pools of her gaze. It’s a smile of perverse joy, and it makes her slight frame seem to tremble with a private delight.

"Your insomnia’s been bad, huh?" Her voice is high, nasal, almost bird-like, a stark contradiction to the calculating stillness in her eyes. She kicks her legs idly, a childlike gesture that feels like a poorly fitted costume. "Is that why you’re riding the rails with me tonight?"

Her dress is some forgettable color. In fact, you can’t remember what color it was the moment you look away from it. Your eyes are drawn back to her face, to those eyes. They’re not black, but a deep, deep brown. The longer you look, the more you feel you’re drowning in them, like they’re pools of quicksand pulling you down.

Her lips quirk. "Like what you see?"

It’s a taunt as much as a question, and it’s enough to jerk you back to the vibrating reality of the subway car, to the long night stretching ahead.

"Not going to talk to me?" She’s moving as the last word leaves her mouth, an oddly jerking motion as she gains her feet before freezing mid-motion. Waiting..