Ripe by Sarah Rose Etter EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Sarah Rose Etter
- Language: English
- Genre: Contemporary Literary Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
A man shouldn’t be seen like that, all lit up. A horror that sharp stays with you.
It’s a knife lodged in the heart.
A Tuesday, on the train, in the evening, after work. The train smells of:
humans and ruin, bad breath, old sweat, rotten fruit. Through the dirty
window, San Francisco in winter: cold sunset over glinting water, dark hills
dusted with lights, the black silhouettes of palm fronds clawing at the fading
pastel sky.
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The train is full of Believers. I’m not one of them. The Believers have wan
skin and glassy eyes. They wear: wind jackets with tech logos, raw denim, canvas
sneakers, sustainable ballet ats. Their white plastic earbuds override the sound
of real life, their faces buried in their screens. They do not speak or make eye
contact. They aren’t really here. The train is full of husks.
I act like one of them. Slow, sad music plays through my earbuds. The song
makes the commute feel like a movie. With each ash of scenery, the train carries
me farther away from the oce. Each day here presses the life out of me. On the
way home, I am silent, at, pulped.
The black hole hovers above the empty seat to my left. A dark heat emanates
from its center. A metallic smell overtakes me, the scent of outer space. No one
else can see the black hole. It is mine and mine alone. It always has been.
“Ma’am, I need a dollar,” a voice calls over my music.
A man stands in the aisle: faded brown suit, too old to blend in here, his dark
eyes bloodshot from age or drink.
“I don’t have any cash,” I say.
“Nothing? Come on.”
The black hole expands and rotates clockwise.
“I’m really sorry.”
“Man, fuck you,” he mutters, moving on to the next husk.
As the train reaches my stop, I slide my earbuds out and into their case. I
weave through the crowd on the platform: mothers pushing strollers, Believers
carrying hoverboards under their arms, teenagers cursing, the blind man playing
a battered violin, the melancholy notes of the strings vibrating through the belly
of the station. The black hole moves alongside me, above their heads.
Outside, I walk a few blocks through the heart of the city: vendors selling
food and owers, performers strumming old guitars with white buckets at their
feet, women selling silver jewelry glinting beneath the streetlights. Then I see
him.
It starts with a small crowd on the sidewalk. A re truck and a few police cars
are parked haphazardly on the street, blue and red lights ashing.
“Sir, please think this through,” a policeman says above the din of the crowd.
“You don’t need to do this.”
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