The Battle of Platform 3

She shuffled her feet as her hands dug deeper into the pockets of her down jacket, her fingernails scraping the thread fastening the pockets. The lining had given way to a small hole, likely the result of her habit of poking at it, although she did for a moment wonder why these thick puffer coats belied such flimsy inner material.

A gust of wind brought her attention back to where she currently stood.

The monitor on the platform read 5 minutes until the arrival of the next train. She partly feared boarding the confined carriage of germs, which she had avoided all winter in an attempt to protect herself from getting sick. As the icy, Winter winds cut through the air, her gaze stretched along the tracks hoping to catch a glimpse of the oncoming locomotive.

Around her, commuters began huddling in anticipation, testing their skilled estimations of the where the doors of ‘their carriage’ would stop. As bodies got closer, the heat of the thrill of the battle that lay ahead slowly rose.

It hardly seemed fair that the tall man clad in his designer business suit who had just waltzed over and stood to her right, could be the first to board a train she had been waiting over 5 minutes for. Five minutes in this cold, ravenous weather. She had skipped breakfast to get here early. He smelt of the bacon and egg roll they sold in the small cafe at the entrance of the station. To think he had the luxury to stop and buy something to eat - and devour it - during peak hour commute time, then stride to the end of the platform in front of others like that was his VIP reserved position. She was instantly fueled with a desire to board before him.

She moved her body in small semicircles to the right and left, looking down at the asphalt, partly trying to warm herself but, more so, subtly asserting her presence on the platform as a commuter who ought to be reckoned with.

Then she heard it; the slight whistling the tracks made when the train was not far. She regarded this as a skill, picked up through many days of assuming the same position on the platform and staring at that piece of the track. It was a skill that would place her ahead of the others with earphones jamming their sense of the sounds of the battle ground.

She looked up to her right, past the tall man in his suit, past the commuters huddling in position, ready for war. There it was. The germ carriage, her warm confined space. Hurtling towards the station and slowly reducing speed as it rounded the bend to Platform 3.

Around her, the soldiers had armoured up. Tall man was on his horse, ready to charge in. She slipped past him and positioned herself next to two students, their bulky school bags serving as shields, blocking their fellow public transport patrons. In the distance she saw a tourist fast approaching, rolling a suitcase. The tourist appeared determined to board her carriage, and picked up pace. This could set back her advantage; she had to board before the suitcase was thrust in front of her. It was unfair to use such weaponary in inner city warfare.

The train continued to slow as it pulled in. The anticipation grew, the tension swelled and the excitement bubbled. She closed her eyes and counted down.

3

2

1

As she opened her eyes and took a deep breath, the beautiful beeping battle cry filled her ears. The doors to Carriage 5 glided open and she stood politely in position, her torso turned at a slight 45 degree angle to allow for passengers to alight, the rules of war not amiss to her. She felt the heat of the energy of the hoards behind her, eager to trample past to board. She expertly shuffled in, a few quick stealthy steps, and took her place in the corner, behind the door. The tall man had been shoved to the other corner, behind the students’ bags. The tourist remained on the platform, his suitcase betraying him, as other soldiers filled up the space he hoped to occupy.

As she removed her hands from her pockets she instinctively reached up and smiled. Her bright yellow javelin awaited. Grabbing the pole, she forgot about the germs and she rode in her carriage looking through the glass at the fleeting landscape outside. She did it. She had regained her stronghold in the metal vessel, cementing her reputation as a commuter to be reckoned with, until the icy winds blew around once more.

For now, she would savour her transportation victory. The tall man had his designer business suit but she wore a greater title; she was the Conqueror of the 8:23am South Yarra City Loop service.