Thorny Thursday — Goodbyes Aren’t Pleasant

Carl says goodbye to Brigitte

“My train’s here in five minutes,” said Brigitte.

“Berlin’s so far away,” said Carl, frowning. “Look, I know we’ve had our differences, but—”

“I’m here on a student visa. It’s expired. Your government told me to leave. All those migrants flooding into England on boats across the channel, and the immigration people come after me.”

“That’s not the real reason you’re leaving.” Carl stood looking at her, his frown deepening. “You could’ve gotten someone at Oxford to vouch for you. You’re still angry about that night. I said I was sorry. The wine. We were both sloshed. I was feeling rejected.”

“It’s not something you can take back or say you’re sorry for,” said Brigitte. “But I’m not leaving because I’m angry at you. That would be silly. I was just as much at fault, getting involved with you in the first place. Damage is done. I’d hoped to stay here permanently.”

The platform at the London station was getting more crowded. Brigitte clutched the handle of her rolling suitcase and looked anxiously down the tracks for the Eurostar train. She had been in England four years getting her degree from Oxford in Medieval literature. She had been offered a position as a lecturer, but then the letter from Immigration had arrived, saying she had to leave. The Prime Minister had been feeling the heat from the press about people in the country illegally and had ordered Immigration to step up their efforts in that area, starting with easy pickings: a scholarly young woman whose student visa was expired and her hopes of going for a higher degree were now so much dust.

And Carl had been the one who had turned her in, all because she wouldn’t sleep with him, even after they had finished off two bottles of wine.

“Faster to fly,” said Carl.

Brigitte looked at him and rolled her eyes. “The train’s cheaper. Plus, thanks to you, I’m considered an undesirable and can’t board a plane.”

People began moving closer to the edge of the platform as the train neared. Carl watched it, and Brigitte prepared herself for the ordeal of boarding and finding a seat. She wasn’t the only foreigner being ousted so the Prime Minister could boast in front of a bevy of news microphones that he was doing something about illegals. Half the people on the platform were in the same situation.

The train didn’t slow down, and an announcement came over the loudspeaker: “Ladies and gentleman, we apologize for the inconvenience, but the incoming train has been changed to express. Another train will be along in a few minutes. Please stand clear. Thank you for your understanding.”

People backed away from the tracks as the train approached at full speed.

Suddenly, Carl pushed Brigitte. She grabbed his coat, hoping to steady herself. Surprised at the action, Carl plunged headfirst onto the tracks as Brigitte let go. The train barreled on through. When it had passed, Carl’s remains were spread out across a fair distance. Several people screamed and pointed to Brigitte.

“She did it!” a man proclaimed.

“No, he pushed her,” said a woman.

Others began talking all at once, creating a din that drowned out the sound of police sirens.

Brigitte just stood and looked at them, unable to speak and wishing that she was on that train.

———

Thanks for reading. If you’ve been enjoying my flash fiction on here, please check out my first book of short stories (a couple are actually novelette length), newly published by Wordwooze Publishing. (I even designed the cover.)

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