Jillian Chantal

This week, the authors of Tuesday Tales have a picture prompt. I am still working on my train story.

Check out the other tales here. We are limited to 300 words this week. 

“Did you pay your fare this time?” Charles asked the bum.

“What’s it to you, mac?” The bum almost spat on the floor, but stopped himself and looked at me. “Sorry, Ma’am.”

“It’s not ma’am. She’s a miss,” Anita said.

“Never been married,” added Rashmi.

And now they were telling this person my personal information? What the heck?

The bum cocked his head and stared at me. “Never married? I can hardly believe that. A looker like you?”

Now this was too much. He had to be making fun of me. I stood so abruptly my bag fell to the floor. Tears pooled in my eyes making it hard to see. In my rush to get to the door of the car and escape, I stumbled over my tote and almost lost my footing.

Kent grabbed my arm. At least I think it was Kent. “Where are you going, Jane?”

“To find another place to sit. I don’t have to take this.” I shook free of him and knelt down to pick up the pen and notepad that fell out of my bag. As I shoved it back in and tried to stand, the train took a corner too fast and knocked me off balance.

Kent lunged to grab hold of one of the blue seats. Before I made contact with the nasty floor, a pair of strong arms scooped me up and back to my abandoned place.

“Don’t know why you’re running off, but I hope it’s not because of me,” the bum said.

I really looked him in the eye for the first time. His strength was way more than I’d expect from a man who I thought was a malnourished elderly street person.

As I focused on him—truly focused—I saw a young man pretending to be a frail older person. Puzzled, I frowned.