Airborne molecules of shampoo used by the woman sitting next to Alex touch the receptors in the
back of his mouth and nose. They awake neural pathways which he'd long since put to bed. And now, against his will, he can feel his arms around his lover, feel her hair
against his cheek, remember his hands along her body. He remembers the acetic
acid of her sex. This sensation rises up within him like an increased heart
rate, from stomach to chest.
Alex knows that there is nothing he can do but ride this
out. I watch him access his short term memory, looking over the things that he
needs to do that day. The list exhausts itself quickly. So he tries to
breathe like Sergei showed him. The inhale cleanses and fills his lungs; the
exhale clears his mind. But this action only brings back other memories. He’s
checking the chamber now to see that it’s empty, lifting the receiver, and
removing the recoil spring of a muck encrusted late-Soviet era assault rifle.
His green-brown fatigues are stained black with oxidized blood.
When the PA announces his stop, Alex gets up from his seat
and exits the train, joining the crowd in trying to get through the day.
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