1

There had been no siren, but there was work to be done.

A silent screech had woken the world into an anthill. It would not have been necessary, for they never truly slept. Even in the quiet moments, there was a sadness lurching in the empty streets and prairies. Its wailing was non-existent, but if you strained your ears you could hear it.

It was the time of absence and a man with an unassuming face and no more family ties stood in a train in the middle of the grey tinted morning rush hour. The high tacted train was never on time, so all passangers and Guld were pressed onto each other. No one spoke and curled their bodies away from each other into fleshy islands. The people who were unwilling to do this only took the train if they had court appointments or welfare checks to gather.

Guld had to be somewhere like any one else. But he was not able to remember where to. That morning he had woken up and he had known that his dreams were all wrong.

"Who has wrong dreams?"

He had asked himself as he had spat yellow gobs of spit into the sink.

"And why?"

He had tried to not care, putting on his illfitting clothes, a jeans to wide, a shirt too short on his skinny arms. He had looked into the mirror and seen his belly and he had shrugged. It did not matter to anyone anyway.

But his dreams mattered to him. Did they not?

The train took a sharp turn, screeching iron on irons against the tracks, sparks flying into the darkness of the winding underground tunnels. Guld was ripped up and down and in front of him stood a woman, being shaken just as him and everyone else, her eyes fixated onto a device in her right hand adorned by long lilac fingernails. Guld was slumping more into himself. He wanted to want her the longer he looked. But something did not fit and he could not place his finer on it.

It had not been long since he had been touched and it had felt empty as soon as he had cum, her pushing him away and he, not knowing what to do, flowing into his own hand.

He felt small and, as to mock him, the train raised itself out of the tunnel into the blinding sharp cold light of the city and towering blocks erected themself in front of the window and him. Only know did he notice that she, the woman with lilac fingernails, had a sadness in her eyes that repulsed him. Guld had always made a mockery of the rules, but never turly broken any, and when he had done, the guilt had not left him for weeks. Still, he wanted her to stop that sadness disrupting all the beauty of her done face and her done silhoutte.

And then he noticed it.

A faint smile on her lips. Did she knew he was looking?

In the distance the murmur of a comossion rumbled forth into the train.

Did she knew and was she mocking him?

Or was she excited?

Because of him?

"Something else."

Guld assured himself and something inside him screamed.

The comossion in the distance got closer, movement around him, bodies stiffening, sharpening and hardening.

"Not me. Not me."

He repeated and he remembered his wrong dreams and her smile widened and she got closer to him and the people shoved each other, someone punched him in the side, a halfhearted apology under panicky breath and she inbetween the wires and pistons and veebelts and conducting chips and a hand on his shoulder and maybe this would be the moment Guld thought and he had soft knees and he was melting and lost himself and it was painful, so painful to become one with people and sweat and oil and her lilac fingernails and the hand on his shoulder ripped him away and he stared into harsh grey eyes and the pass of a ticket inspection.

Guld found himself on a wide empty street. His shirt was drenched. In front of him a glass building with a small neon sign on the side.

"Partnersearch"

He read.

Next to the smooth glass, a boarded up restaurant. "Giovannis" was still legible in green letters under graffiti and grime.

A guttural sound in the distance made Guld wince. No one came, but he still felt small. How did he get there?

He had shown his train pass issued and paid by the city as an employ of the data management center west. And then?

He had been kissed by the woman with lilac fingers.

"No I have not."

Guld told himself with a stern face.

Did he not?

"The train had derailed!"

That was a lie and he immediately knew it.

He could only remember bits, but it was a blur.

All that was left to do was to enter Partnersearch.

2

It is strongly discouraged to identify with Guld, as his actions in the train and his following antisocial behaviour can be clearly traced back to his internalized megalomaniac paranoia and oppressive epigenetics. A detailed psychosocial genealogy of the family Guld has been compiled by the psychological forensic department of the state univerity of West.

If identification persists in the examination of Gulds case, counseling can be provided and is strongly adviced for psychological hygiene.

Please bear in mind that Guld never left the train.