"Next Stop on this Train" - Fiction, by Sharline Dominguez

Upon entering the third from last car on the F-train at approximately 6:27 am, one finds it difficult not to take notice of the disheveled, young man resting against the cold, blue seat in the far corner by the doors that can be opened, but not trespassed. He is sprawled out, pants unzipped, his once new, but now filthy sports cap shielding his tired eyes from the rays of a sun announcing another day. The stench that greets my eyes and nose triggers my mind, causing it to try and make a connection between the stench and its source, possibly a young man, alone, with his whole life ahead of him.

One immediately, and almost involuntarily, starts to parallel where one's life is headed, especially in this moment, to the point at which this young man's life may have stopped. One may truly want to move somewhere else, away from the unknown, but not really wanting to because it is the very mystery of his existence that intrigues and captivates those who look down upon him. Quite different from the "others" on different subway lines, aimlessly circling the five boroughs of New York City, this young man could be my uncle. He could be my big brother in need of his little sister's love just because no one else cared enough to even bother with his emotions. A victim to a society where those who fall out, may never make it back to where they began in one piece. But it is always essential to keep in mind that perhaps, the next stop one's train makes, may not be West 4th Street or Fort Hamilton Parkway. It might just be another close encounter, or quick sight of someone, as young as me, or as old as my grandfather, dying to live.