Zombies and Chocolate (Emily)

Emily stood quietly among the throng of people. She was going to get on a subway train even if it killed her. They made her feel claustrophobic. Being underground in a box, even if the box had lights and moved through tunnels, reminded her too much of burial. But subway travel was practical and economical. It was a part of New York and Emily was a New Yorker now. There really wasn’t anything to fear. Even if a car broke down, it would be found, right? It wouldn’t be trapped down there for days until a band of mutated, underground rodents or gators found them, right?

She noticed a fly buzzing around her head, bringing her back to reality. Had she been forgetting to blink? She must always remember to blink in public. It frightened people if she didn’t. Emily snatched the fly from the air and ended its life. Over the decades she had gotten quite good at catching flies. Flies led to maggots. Emily did not want maggots eating her, so she developed the fly catching reflexes of a frog. She hoped no one noticed her murder, but she was pretty confident no one did. She had learned city folk barely noticed the world going on around them.

Now which way to the track? She had been standing near a food stall. Emily wondered what a hotdog tasted like. She had never gotten the chance to try one and so many people ate them here. Everyone in the line seemed very moody, ragged. Had these people aged since she last looked? Emily had watched people age. It seemed one day they were young and hopeful, then the next they were old and wishing they never aged, envying Emily for her immortality. Were these people aging or was it her imagination? It wasn’t so much their appearance; it was how they held themselves. Was someone stealing their youth? She imagined a mutant that kept himself young by stealing the youth of others. She searched the crowd, imagining a young, dashing lawyer type sucking youth from the group around her.

No one caught her eye. Oh well. What would she have done if she found the guy? Tackle him down to stop his robbery? Emily pursed her lips in frustration and began to walk toward the track, not noticing her purse drop to the floor as she strolled through the crowd.

Emily was focused on the task at hand. She was going to get on that subway car. She was going to sit down and stare at her phone, pretending to know how to use it. Then she would get off the subway car after it stopped three times. Then she would be one step closer to being a real New Yorker. Yes, this is what she was going to do. She was going to get on that subway car. She was going to-

Someone tapped her shoulder. Emily whirled around. Who communicates with strangers on the subway? In front of her stood a woman slightly taller than herself. The woman seemed to have her purse. When had she dropped it? “Oh!” That’s all she was able to say before she was forced into the subway car by a group of people, ready to be home.

Emily was on a subway car. Emily was not ready to be on a subway car. She pushed through the crowd trying to make her way back to the door. It shut right as she got there. She banged on the doors furiously. She almost tripped as the car began to move. This vehicle started up so much faster than a train did. She needed to sit down. Emily turned around, frantically looking for an open seat. None. If the undead girl could breath, she would be hyperventilating. She grabbed the poll next to her to steady herself.

Ok, she didn’t need to sit. She could stare at her phone standing up. Emily suddenly remembered the woman with the curly hair. That woman had her purse. She looked around the car again, hoping that the woman had also gotten on the same fast moving death trap.

“Tarnation! No, ai am not awrite! Dis hea contraption is mewvin way too fast! Ets crowded. Aim do’n everything not to squall at the top of mai lungs!” Emily loosened her grip slightly from the poll. She had just been taken by surprise from the wave of people, then the realization that she was underground in a coffin shaped(ish) object did not bode well with the Southern Belle. But after her outburst, she was beginning to feel a little better.

“Mai apologies. Aim jest a little claustrophobic, is all. Thank ya kindly fo gett’n mai purse.” She reached out and reclaimed her handbag. The she extended her hand for the good Samaritan to shake. “Mai name es Emily. Aim a little new to New York and felt ai should try the subway. Now that aim on un, ai don think it was a bad idea.” Emily forced a nervous laugh. Next time, she would pick a less busy time to ride.

Darcy had a firm handshake. Emily respected that. Her nerves were feeling better. This really wasn’t so bad. If she focused on what was going on in the car she wouldn’t have to think about the darkness all around her, waiting to bury her in an avalanche of dirt and asphalt.

“Ai ‘oneslty have no idea. My plan wus to git on a car and travel three stops. Ai didn’t care where they was headed.” Emily turned away. Now that she had gotten her purse back she didn’t really plan on talking to the woman anymore. What would they talk about anyway? How Emily worked at a mortuary? How her head was cut off by a crazed doctor?

But with the silence came thoughts: thoughts of burial, thoughts of being in the dark, unable to claw her way out of the grave. She turned back to the brunette. “Es that en accent ai hea? Where you frum? Are you new to New York?”