A Brush With Death - short story in 478 words

I am trying to write 500 words, set on a train - comments welcome!

A Brush With Death

“Whatever happens now, you’ll never be in charge of a train again.”

Kevin listened to his Union Rep and wished he would shut up. The Rep was right though. Kevin was bereft with the guilt and shame of it all. He was derailed, dejected, and desperate. And he was only thirty eight.

Since he was a boy, all Kevin had wanted was a job working on trains. He was too young to eulogise over steam but he never felt deprived because diesel provided all the excitement he needed.

It had been a long wait for success but it had come. After all the training, and the years of frustration waiting for his own train, he had been offered the job, the one that he never dared dream of, the job that allowed him to stride purposefully into St Pancras three days a week, wearing his uniform with pride. He, little Kevin, was in charge of the Eurostar!

Now, waiting for the verdict of the Disciplinary Hearing, he was anxious and he was angry.

“Why does someone wake up one morning, decide to kill themselves, then make their way to the nearest train?”

“I don’t know. But I’m pretty sure they’re not thinking about the people working on the railway at that point in their lives.”

“I suppose not. I know it sounds selfish but it wasn’t my fault he died. It’s victimisation, that’s what it is. I didn’t even get counselling – just this bloody hearing!”

Kevin apologised, immediately feeling ashamed. Of course his come-uppance could not be compared to the unimaginable terror suffered by tortured souls frying to death on the line, their bodies twitching, the horror leaking from wide staring eyes.

“Who found the body?” asked the Rep, attempting to fill an awkward silence but succeeding only in fuelling Kevin’s ire.

“It’s in the file. The file right there on the table. He was found by a passenger.”

“Sorry. I was only allocated this case when I came in this morning.” He flicked through the Bradford wallet and brandished a newspaper cutting.

“Ah. That would explain the bad PR then. No wonder they’re taking you to the cleaners.”

Realising his faux pas, the Rep quickly changed the subject. “Look at this photo. He looks like he’s just sleeping doesn’t he?”

He dropped the newspaper on the table between them. “Anyway, you got your picture on the front page. Not many of us can say that.”

Kevin looked at it and winced, tightening the muscles in his face towards his nose as if he had bitten into a lemon.

“It won’t exactly help me get another job though, will it?”
Kevin looked at the picture, and read the caption out loud for dramatic effect.

“Kevin Pierce, Eurostar Cleaning Manager, empties his bags and avoids a brush with death as he fails to see a body on his train.”