All Along the Watchtower

[11.07.00] » by Negative Creep

The railway worker had seen a lot of terrifying things in his line of work. But nothing, nothing like this.

He had been loitering by the entrance to the train, as usual. Or HIS train, as he always called it in his mind. For twenty-seven years he had been a ticket taker on the Midgar Railways, and, although it was as hard a job as any you had to take on here, down in the bad air and decaying shanty towns, he loved it. Although thousands of passengers had come and gone in front of his eyes, endless tapestries unfolding every day, for some reason in these final moments of terror some special cases came to mind......

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The first real intriguing thing that he had seen after becoming a train worker would always haunt him. Although even back then he was beginning to harden to his work, he had been tempted to step in and help, no matter what his higher-ups would say.

It had been early November, and even under the protective plate the general stuffiness was imbued with a freezing chill that went right through Mike's red woolen uniform, making him wrap his overcoat tighter around the frame of his body. If the plate hadn't hidden it from view, a shockingly blue sky could've been seen, the kind that only comes with freezing weather and makes the stars glitter like ice crystals.

Sadly, neither Mike nor his charges on the train could see the stars. Some never had, and some never would. The closest thing to stars they saw were the dim flood lights that lined the bottom of the plate,bright, but not bright enough to pierce the gloom that lay over the Midgar Slums day in, day out.

Most didn't care about seeing the stars, though.They were too busy with their own lives. Errands to run, places to go, bars to solicit. "The latter choice seems to be the most frequent" was the sardonic thought that came to Mike's mind, unbidden, and he stifled a grim chuckle and tried to look non-committal as possible as the tide of humanity continued to flow past.

Slowly people began to drift away, together or alone, and the latest batch of passengers was gone. Or so Mike thought.

As he was about to wander off to spend his own short break in sweet inebriation, a rustling of clothes and a pitiful whimpering came to him from the doorway of the train car. He turned his head slightly, to get a better view, and watched as out of the car stumbled a dignified-looking lady and what appeared to be her small daughter. At least the woman would have been noble, if she had had the ability to stand upright on her own. At first he thought she was drunk, and a wave of disgust washed over him. Shame that the child, who looked to be no more than five, had to see her mother in this state.

But when she had stumbled down the steps and collapsed on the railway platform, not far away from him, he saw the crimson trail from the train to the platform and realized what was wrong.

This woman was dying. She must have a grave wound underneath the thin dress she was wearing, but since the clothing was the same colour as the blood, he couldn't be sure where the wound was located, or how much blood she had lost so far. He could only surmise it must be quite a bit, as the lady was deathly pale, a complexion that clashed terrifically with her bright garb. Thick auburn hair covered her face from Mike's view, obscuring whatever it was she was trying to gasp out. He took advantage of this and, in a fit of cowardice, ignored the woman and child, sprawled not eight feet awayfrom him. Wherever she had gotten this fatal wound, it must've been intentional, as they seemed to be fleeing from somewhere.................or someone. And if that someone could inflict death blows like the one draining this woman's life away into the gutter, he KNEW he didn't want to get involved.

The little girl tugged urgently at her mother's skirts and tried to pull her to her feet with only her tiny arms and increasingly desperate determination. Hair pulled back into a small pink bow, blowing in the frigid wind, she finally gave up and began to run to passers-by, begging for help in a surprisingly adult voice for such a young child. Wherever she had lived for the first few years of her life, it had made her grow up fast, Mike guessed, again turning his eyes to watch the tableau interestedly.

The small girl looked around in exasperation and growing terror, as people continued to ignore her and her mother's life continued to seep away. Her eyes suddenly caught Mike's, and he was caught, like a bug in amber.

She had the strangest eyes he had ever seen, a bright green that almost glowed, wavering and shifting like water as he stared into them. Her eyes begged him to come and help, saying what her voice did not. They seemed to plead without words, promising him everything her childish heart could think of. And in them he could also seem to see things, images.

A betrayal and a murder........

A cold, emotionless lab........

Painful tests...........

And, finally, escape, flight, and hounding by nameless, faceless foes. All of this he seemed to see in a few seconds time. Then he tore his eyes away from the girl's and the nexus was broken. A look of incredulous, terrified betrayal passed over her features, like he had struck her across the cheek, like in not helping he himself had become one of those who had pursued them and shot her mother.

Then she broke down and wept.

Mike felt like crying himself, but was spared dwelling on his emotions by the actions of another onlooker. She looked to be no more than twenty-five herself, and was no stranger to Mike. For the past few weeks she had kept a silent vigil at the train station, showing up every time it stopped, rain or shine. She would watch the door expectantly, clutching a weather-stained letter, and looking as if she expected someone to leap off the car and into her arms any second.

Inevitably noone did, and her face fell more and more each passing time this occured. It was painful to watch, but, as with all passengers, boarders, and passers-by, Mike kept away from them and to himself. But it looked as if this time the woman at least was going to do more than just stand by looking forlorn.

She carefully walked to the fast-fading woman on the platform and crouched beside her, speaking in a quiet tone that not even Mike could hear. The injured lady gasped something out in reply and the sandy-haired woman nodded, as if she understood. Then the injured woman took one last gasp , clutched at her little girl's hand, and was still. A look of peace came over her face. At last she was at rest, where mysterious pursuers could not reach her. The sandy-haired woman stood up, took the sobbing girl's hand, and began to lead her away. As they passed Mike, the child gave him a look he'd never forget.It clearly said "If you had helped her......"

"And sadly" he thought, "....it might be true."

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...........All that, so long ago. And yet it felt like it might've been yesterday. Funny the things you thought of in moments of panic. Why Mike had thought of the little girl now, as the plate crashed towards him he could not surmise, but at this moment he was genuinly sorry for what he had done, or more so what he had NOT done. He looked up again.

Here it came. Where moments before it had just been wobbling dangerously, the plate now began to come down, at first slowly, then faster and faster as it began it's ominous descent. Shadowing the small houses and shops, it roared towards the ground and the inevitible collision course with Sector Seven.

The last thought that raced through his head before the plate crushed him under uncounted tons of metal and debris was "I'm sorry little girl.......I'm sorry."

And strangely enough, he seemed to hear an answer, from somewhere far away.

"It's alright............I've forgiven you."

He suddenly felt at peace. She had forgiven him. It was O.K.

The last thing his eyes ever saw were stars, endless and bright through the gap where the plate section had been.

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Well, there it is. I've played FF7 more times than I care to remember, and that guy always intrigued me. So I figured "Why not" ? All threats or praises *HA!* should be sent to tonberry101@angelfire.com Feedback is BEGGED for. Aeris isn't mine, thankfully, nor is Midgar, or anything from FF7. It all belongs to Squaresoft, they of the Spoony Bards. Yada yada yada.

Visit my site at www.geocities.com/snufking13 and be blinded for life at the horrors you uncover.

"Just you try to hold me down, Come on, try to shut me up...."