The Suspicous Type of Stranger

I stared down at the station platform under my feet. People crowded around me, some chatting with each other; some on their phones not even acknowledging anyone else, and others, like me; just wanted to get on the train and go. The worst part is their all strangers. I cringe at the thought, I’ve always hated strangers. But sadly for me, being an adult means you have to do things you don’t want to do. I continued staring down at the platform, getting deeper and deeper into my thoughts.
An unfamiliar hand taped me on the shoulder, I hesitantly turned around; I should be careful around people I don’t know.
A large 6-foot tall figure stood behind me, he wore a black jacket and gloves, the suspicious type. He asked for a dollar, holding out a baseball mitt of a hand. I thought for a moment, but my mother always told me to be polite; so with her voice echoing in my mind, I placed a dollar into the leather glove. More people gathered around, so I toke off to a less crowded platform nearby, trying to avoid any small talk or more handouts.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a figure pace slowly towards me, the same giant man who I encountered moments before. What is it now? I thought to myself, turning away from his gaze. He reached into the jacket and pulled something out. I looked his direction, my heart nearly stopped at the sight of a gun barrel.
I gasped, and in an act of fear, I ran towards the wall; which I would come to regret considering it only made me more trapped than before. The stranger lumbered after me, only moments later I found myself pinned to the wall. Tears streamed down my face as I tried to beg for mercy between sobs. After several moments of speaking gibberish he gave me a swift cuff to the side of the head with the gun. I placed my hands over my face and collapsed to the floor, peeking behind his legs I saw a lingering crowd, filled with people who seemed to have no intentions of helping the poor young girl being harassed. As if to defy my thoughts, a woman burst from the crowd screaming, but the sound of her hitting the floor signified it was only an attempt to help. I heard screaming, I think it may have been mine. She looked like a mother, someone who cared deeply and would be missed. I had no boyfriend, no children, practically no family. No, I did not see people crying over me, no crowds of friends sobbing at my funeral, I saw nothing but an untouched grave. A tombstone with no flowers.
He grabbed me by the wrist, interrupting my ‘vision’ and hurled me onto the train tracks; I tried to get up but couldn’t find my bearings. Instead, my eyes went to the crowd, to the dead woman on the concrete floors, and the stranger that tormented me. His wore a wolfish grin, and mouthed the words “You shouldn’t talk to strangers.” He slowly raised a finger; I looked in the direction he pointed; towards the tunnel.
The last things I saw were the blinding headlights of an oncoming train.

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