I scream at the top of my lungs and hurl myself at the man in front of me. He falls facedown onto the tracks below and writhes in pain. For a second it looks like I was going to go over the edge with him, but I manage to regain my balance and quickly stumble back behind the white line. Two or three seconds later the train slides into the platform and the man disappears from view. The brakes squeal and the train screeches to an emergency stop. I’m so interested in the man that I can’t hold myself back any longer and run over and peek down at the tracks through the space between the train and the platform. I stick the top of my head flat against the train and look straight down at the tracks. Zoom in on my head and the train suddenly takes off again. As if the side of the train was a grater and my head were a big, soft radish, the train starts to grind me down to a slushy pulp. Pulverized from my scalp, to my skull, through my brains. And then, just when I am ground down to my eyelids, just when I realize that I’m in serious trouble, the man's eyeball rolls into view.
I may have been waiting for the train like I wanted to be the protagonist of some short film, like a neurotic girl on her way to the psychiatric ward, but to be honest I'm not really all that neurotic. It’s all just a fantasy that stems from my performance of a neurotic girl on her way to the psychiatric ward. If you want to know when I started this performance, it was actually today. I was looking through my closet and decided that I really wanted a nice fur coat—to help my image you know. Despite having already made a reservation at a psychiatric ward today, I changed my mind and decided to skip that and go shopping in Aoyama instead—which is when I decided to start up this act. So you see it’s not that I hate the man waiting for the train in front of me. I was only trying to imagine what would happen if I were to push him down onto the tracks, and now I see that it would not be a good situation. So it was a kind of warning to myself. I can hear the train off in the distance. I don’t push the man. The train pulls safely into the station.
The announcer crackles over the intercom like always. “Please don’t run for the train,” he says.
In answer to his request, I try making a mad dash for the doors but quickly give up and the people on the train all gave me cold looks. The realization that I will have to spend twenty minutes with these people fills me with a sudden terror. Oh God oh God oh God. I can’t stand their eyes on me. The door closes and I turn to face it, making a serious effort to ignore the gaze of all the other passengers, but I can feel someone’s snickering stabbing into my back. Everyone is laughing. Everyone is laughing at me. Everyone is snickering about me and it’s terrifying. Oh god, someone save me. If this goes on any longer their eyes will stab me to death. Somebody.
Years of translation experience: 11. Registered at ProZ.com: Aug 2008.