She wakes up like a bunny rabbit from its hibernation, snug and warm under the silk eiderdown bed shed, unprepared to conquer the arctic cold of the winter outside.
As her eyes flutter awake like an eagle opening its wings, she can hear the banging of the dustbins being put in the lorry like a shawl of plankton.
Wait! It must be 7am she shudders!
The train from St Pancras is at 8am. “How am I going to get there in time?” She leaps out of bed, like a gazelle being chased by a tiger and darts to the bathroom. She flick on the shower and doesn’t wait for it to get warm. A shot of ice cold water strikes her body like a spear.
She rushes to the living room to pull on whatever clothes she can find. What does she wear? A clean summery skirt and blouse or her cable knit jumper that’s got as many holes as a Swiss cheese? She opts for the leggings and jumper, grabs a bag and rushes to the station.
Her leggings gives her speed as she darts in and out of commuters and managers to get to St Pancras.
As she arrives, she rushes to the ticket machine.
Does she wait patiently staring in the people in front in a passive aggressive way knowing this could risk her missing her train, or does she start crying to guilt trip people into letting her thought, or does she try and get on without a ticket?
She waits surreptitiously to the gate and sees an empty suitcase on a trolley. She tries to get into the suitcase.
Then, nothing. She gets picked up. Will she get on the train and get noticed?
Suddenly a thump and she feels her body in mid air. And another thump. Then the zip starts to open slowly. The zip is caught, dammit!
Then it opens from pitch block to seeing the landscape fly past. The straight opposite, what seems like the driver collapsed on his seat in shock.
Does she take over driving, or does she call someone? What would you do?
