Modern Mishap

He stepped down from the train, disoriented, and in his bleariness he turned the wrong way on the platform, walking away from the exit and toward the darkness of the tunnel. He was unfortunately riding on the last car, meaning there was no oncoming commuters to jolt him into awareness. While many saw his mistake, no one called after him. Those who saw him swallowed their warnings, stayed preoccupied with their trivial concerns, and left him to proceed on his errant way.

His feet propelled him forward, his mind a blank, until he reached the end of the platform and plummetted off its edge, falling five feet onto the concrete below. Only a chance observation by a moderately alert conductor spared him hours of abandoned agony, as the pain which coursed through his shattered leg shocked him into consciousness.

Although he had been riding this same train for the last twelve years, his fellow commuters failed to notice his absence during his one day in the hospital and two days spent convalescing at home. His return, however, was noticed, but not with warm words of greeting. Instead, they saw his limping form clunking through the car, his plaster-encased leg bump-bumping laboriously down the exit stairs, and they silently cursed how his slow pace so thoughtlessly inconvenienced them. Who was this guy, anyway?