Tom - Chapter 2 (Part II)

Tom held his breath anxiously as he watched his uncle's next move, not daring to look away lest he missed something.

Aloysius suddenly looked up at Tom, saying softly: "Are you sure you want to know about this? You could just let it be a bad dream.." 

"Oh for Christ's sake Uncle Aloysius! Please just get on with it!" Tom cried out exasperatedly.

Aloysius sighed and opened his palm, giving Tom a clear view of what he had brought out. It looked like a long sharp tooth that belonged to some kind of animal. But Tom knew it was not any kind he had seen, because the length of it was at least twice that of his uncle's palm. 

The fang was very yellow and seemed at least a hundred years old, with a great jagged edge at the base. 

"What is this? Did it break? Why is it broken like that at the end?" Tom peppered his uncle excitedly with rapid questions, his curiousity piqued by this strange tooth. 

"Yes my dear Tom, it was broken. By someone..." Aloysius Radnog drifted off and glared at nothing in particular, caught in a sudden surge of angry memories.

"Tell me more, Uncle Aloysius!" Tom urged persistently. 

"What? Oh... Okay. But remember, you cannot tell anyone. Not even your father!" The older man raised his voice at the mention of Tim Radnog and stared at Tom. 

"Uh... Sure?" Tom stuttered, suddenly finding it very strange that both his uncle and father told him to keep whatever he saw or heard a secret. 

"Mm." Aloysius nodded his approval at Tom's compliance and began his tale about the tooth he held in his palm.

The tooth belonged to a ancient creature named Zalorus and it was a majestic beast, standing over ten metres tall at full height. His wings spanned the space of houses and were so huge they dragged on the ground as he walked. He came from a lineage of Dralkons, and he was the last of them, as most in his family were butchered mercilessly by vicious merchants. 

Dralkons were magical creatures, and ruled over all beings before humans came into their world. Possesion of a Dralkon tooth brought one infinite power, as it was a symbol that could command legions and no one will dare disobey. 

Driven blind by greed, the humans hunted them down one by one and took their teeth by force, leaving the beasts powerless. Men were cunning and would stake out among Dralkon nests, holding their hatched offspring ransom for the coveted fangs. It was a cruel defeat as the beasts would rather lose their majestic power than to risk injuring their babies. Ofttimes, the fragile hatchlings would breath their last before their parent was released. In some ways, they were more humane than mankind as men exploited that weakness and rose to power, corrupted and evil.

It was a cycle that repeated itself till the extinction of Dralkon. On the day that Zalorus was held ransom, and his hatchlings were on the verge of death, Tirius Radnog saved him. 

"You mean my Great Grandpop??" Tom interjected excitedly with wide eyes.

"No, your great grandfather's father." Aloysius replied, his tired face suddenly a great contrast with Tom's eager one.

Tirius was an honest young man of eighteen then, and he had a special fascination with Dralkons, enraptured by their power and grace. It was heart breaking for him to see the beasts driven to extinction but there seemed little that he could do. 

On that fateful day, he was out gathering wood when he saw Zalorus chained down by iron, heavily wounded with a broken fang. The sight drove him mad and he almost acted upon instinct, raising his axe furiously, knowing that the Dralkons would cease to exist if Zalorus perished. But he held back and lowered his heavy axe, as he realised he was outnumbered against the mercenaries, so he had to use his wits instead.

Tirius' advantage was that the Dralkon's huge body hid him from the sight of the men, so he crept up to the left flank of Zalorus, keeping himself hidden from the view of both beast and men. He looked around the chains frantically and spotted a loose link near Zalorus' left wing, which would release the chains if broken. Using his axe, he hacked at it like a mad man until it finally snapped. Though it pained him to, he had to give a final chop of his axe to break the last bit of metal, which cut into Zalorus' scaly hide.

 

Feeling the sting from another cut, Zalorus bellowed, an angry roar echoing through the woods, and flexed his wing several times. As expected, the chains loosened and Zalorus realised he was free. He let out another roar, this time triumphant and loud, as he rose to his full height, temporarily blocking the sun from Tirius' view. 

The soldiers nearby were thrown into a state of panic and terror, as they knew they were no match for the mighty Dralkon, since there was no more ransom to stop him. Before they could react, Zalorus raised his foot and brought it down on the leader of the group, crushing his skull into the dried leaves of autumn, sending crimson blood spurting wildly all over the dirty forest floor. 

The silence that resounded after the final blood-stained leaf had settled was broken by a shrill cry from one of the men: "I-I-I don't want to d-die like him!!!"  His frenzied cry caused fear to spread like a contagion and soon, everyone ran away, screaming and stumbling over one another in their blind panic.

Zalorus flared his massive wings and breathed a fiery blast of fire toward the scattering group, signalling his dismissal toward them before turning to a shaking Tirius, suddenly aware of the ancient beast towering over him. 

Tirius stood glued to the ground, as if roots had grown from his feet, planting him to the very spot he was on. He did not dare look up, fearful of what Zalorus would next. His mind was racing with thoughts of how he would perish when he heard a voice inside his head. 

"Thank you, for saving me." 

It was a deep and hoarse voice that sounded raspy, with each vowel stratching the inside of Tirius' skull. 

Tirius was certain that Zalorus was talking to him, as there were just two of them in the vast span of woods. But his shock and trepidation kept him from looking up into the Dralkon's eyes. 

"We seldom speak the human words. Only when we need to." Zalorus continued, and lifted Tirius' face with his talon. Tirius was suprised at how benign Zalorus' touch felt and found himself staring straight into a pair of clear blue eyes that were accentuated by a shiny black hide.

The beautiful diamond shaped eyes seemed to pierce through Tirius' very soul, rendering him mesmerised and stupefied at the same time, unable to look away from Zalorus.

"Take this." Zalorus spoke again, almost like a command, pushing the broken fang toward Tirius.  

"It is broken and has no use for me now. But it will bring you great fortune and power in the human realm." 

With Zalorus turning away and releasing his hypnotic stare, Tirius finally managed to speak, albeit a strained croak: 

"W-where will you go?"

"I will still be here, but now I have to go to where my friend is." With those cryptic words, the regal Dralkon took to the skies with a swish of his fearsome wings, a magnificent black figure in the autumn air.

Tom Chapter 2 (Part 1)

It had been almost a month since the incident in the study and Tim Radnog did not bring up a word about it at all, almost like it did not happen.

However, Tom noticed his father had become very distracted in the past weeks, often cooping himself up in the study for stretches of hours, sometimes even spending the night inside. There were a few occasions he saw his father talking to himself and he heard the name "Helene" being mentioned several times. 

Tom was dying to ask his dad if this name belonged to the mysterious woman in the picture but did not dare to, as he remembered how his father had snarled at him while warning him to keep mum.

When his father said they were to keep it a secret, Tom was not actually sure what he meant. Did he mean the picture or the message carved into the wood? Or did he simply mean to ignore what had happened? 

Seeing how strangely his father was behaving of late, Tom decided to err on the safer side and kept everything to himself although the face of the mysterious woman had been showing up in his dreams almost every night. 

She had dark brown eyes that looked kind, and her thick auburn hair fell across her chest beautifully. Tom remembered every action of hers vividly, with her repeating the same message: "Tom, help me", before raising her right hand up and pointing behind him. Each time, he would turn around to see what was behind and when he turned back, she would have disappeared. 

"Why me?"

"Who am I to her?"

"And what does she want me to do?" 

Tom desperately wanted answers to his questions and it truly looked like there wasn't going to be any until his uncle showed up unexpectedly at his house again.

It was very unusual as Aloysius Radnog  rarely came over, unless Tim Radnog had just returned from a long business trip, or on special occasions such as New Year's   Day or Christmas. None of all these took place recently, especially not in Tim Radnog's current state of mind.

Tom was in the kitchen, helping himself to a soft drink in the refridgerator when Aloysius came up to him silently.

"HOLY BALONEY!!! Uncle Aloysius! Why didn't you knock and please mak-" Tom exclaimed in shock when he turned around, almost kissing his uncle full on the lips, given that both of them were of similar height.

Aloysius waved his hand flippantly, cutting Tom short as usual, saying: "Oh come on Tom, there's no need to be so uptight around here." His tone was surprisingly light and that was a cause of concern for young Tom, as it was somewhat reminiscent of his dad's sudden moodswing in the study.

"Now sit down, Tom. We need to talk about the recent events that happened." Aloysius Radnog pushed Tom toward a chair as he spoke. 

"W-what are you talking about?"  Tom stuttered, as he was caught off guard by his uncle's knowledge of what had happened. 

"I know. And it is time for you to as well." 

As Aloysius Radnog spoke, Tom noticed he seemed kinder and this time, his gaze was soft, albeit a little sad. 

"For me to know what? So... You mean you know who Helene is?" Tom couldn't help blurting out anxiously. 

"Yes. But before that, you need to see this." Aloysius replied and brought out something from his pocket that did not belong to this world.

Tom: Chapter 1 (Part II)

Upon a closer look, by which means Tom squinting both his eyes, he noticed that his uncle's left cuff had a raised motif that looked somewhat like a coiled serpent. Suddenly it moved its head to look directly at Tom. 

Tom jumped and knocked his chair backwards, which fell with a loud bang on the kitchen's linoleum floor.

"What's the matter with you, Tom?" asked Aloysius as he raised his eyes slowly from his food.

"Er.... It's...." Tom broke off as he darted a quick glance to his uncle's cuff again. "Something on my sleeve?" Aloysius asked, and slowly brushed his long fingers over the coiled serpent on his cuff. 

It was now perfectly still and looked just like any other pattern on a shirt.

"No. No. It's no-nothing. Some coffee spilled on my lap." Tom stuttered.

"Coffee? Weren't you having juice, my dear?" Aloysius said with a slight smirk.

Flushing slightly, Tom said "Oh yes, I meant juice. Ha-ha."

"Alright gentlemen! Let's stop fussing over who drank juice or coffee now, shall we? Time for some games!" announced his dad, who was oblivious to what just happened as he only had one thing in mind: beating his brother at chess. Afterall, he only saw his brother twice per year. 

The trio proceeded to the living room where Tim Radnog quickly set up a chess set and three chairs.

Rubbing his hands together with glee, he  declared confidently:

"Ok Tom, this time it will be you and Uncle Aloysius against me! I'm sure I will have your Queen in no time!" 

"Oh dear Lord, no way am I going to be playing with Uncle Aloysius after what just happened." 

Tom decided he had a stomachache and groaned loudly: "Oh Dad, you know how juice always upsets my stomach in the morning! I'll join you two immediately after I'm out of the loo!" 

Without waiting for their replies, he made a quick dash up the mahogany stairs and into his room. 

"That was so freakin'close!" Tom exclaimed loudly to himself and breathed a huge sigh of relief.

Carey's head suddenly popped out from Tom's closet, along with a duster in her hand, and teased: "Why Master Tom, you should have knocked!"

"For goodness sake, why should I? It's my room!" replied Tom while rolling his dark brown eyes. 

"Having a stomach upset, right?" Carey winked at Tom. 

"Please don't make me go back down! Uncle Aloysius gives me the creeps!" Tom pleaded.

"Well, it's your room." Carey replied with a deadpan face.

Just then, his father bellowed from the hall: "Young man! You better come down here this instance!"

"Hell no?" Tom muttered under his breath before shouting: "I'm coming!!" 

Carey, being the ever helpful maid, walked over to the toilet and pressed the flush button for him.

Tom quickly made his way down and took his seat beside his uncle. Tom was very surprised that the two of them played rather well together, and managed to beat his father in two out of three games before Tim Radnog called it a day.

"How is it that I lost?" Tim mulled over his moves while they were packing up. Looking at his brother's contenance, Aloysius said coolly: "Looks like the Queen wasn't yours to keep eh, Tim?" 

"For now perhaps, but not for long." Tim replied somewhat bitterly, failing to hide his unhappiness at losing. 

"Perhaps. And I have to go now. If I might add, we make a good team, even if we don't speak much." Aloysius looked briefly at Tom as he said that and turned away before Tom could reply. 

"Do we even speak?" Tom mused silently to himself as they walked his uncle out the door. 

After sending his uncle off, Tom was quick to pepper his father with questions about Aloysius Radnog. 

"Dad, why is Uncle always so abrupt? And did you see the way he looks at me? It's as if I owe him the world and it's always so awkward when we meet! Also, at the dinin-" Tom broke off when he noticed his father was not paying attention. He was deep in his own thoughts and Tom could see a slight flush on his neck, which appeared whenever he became frustrated or angry. 

Tom became concerned and asked: "Dad? Are you alright?" 

Tim Radnog ignored his son, and it was not completely clear if he actually heard him or not, as he started walking down the hallway into his study. 

"Dad..." Tom trailed as he followed closely behind his dad, lost in his own thoughts, but stopped short when the door to his father's study slammed rudely in his face. 

"Czh-czh."

The click of the door lock resounded in the hallway, surrounding Tom, and left him feeling bewildered at his dad's sudden moodswing.

"What exactly has gotten into him??" Tom scratched his head frustratedly. 

He decided to put his ear next to the door to see if he could make out anything. All Tom could hear was the rustling of papers and his Dad's muffled voice, talking to himself agitatedly.

The word he heard most distinctly was a frustrated "WHY?!" before his dad's footsteps came storming toward the door. 

Tom dashed beneath the stairway and watched as his red-faced father banged the door open angrily and went up the stairs, trapped in his bad mood. He quickly took his chance and ran into the study his dad had just exited.

It was his first time in the century-old room and Tom felt awestruck just standing in it. As he looked up, all he saw was high ceilings that never seemed to end, and light that reflected back from the huge chandelier above him blinded him momentarily. Looking across, tall windows showed him a great view of the Radnog estate, with the giant oak trees in plain sight. They were painstakingly planted by his great grandfather, Dranian Radnog, and each stood proudly at over ten metres tall. Turning around, Tom was amazed by the rows of bookshelves surrounding him, and lost count as his eyes dropped on a lustrous table in the centre of the sprawling room. He felt drawn to it immediately, and started running his long fingers over its golden surface and realised, with a soft gasp, that it was a table made of gold itself.

There was a tinny scent in the air, characteristic of metal, as Tom stood still to admire the burnished material.

His eyes moved to a faded picture that lay under a silver pen, and he could make out three people smiling brightly, as if no troubles could come their way.

Peering closer, he saw that it was a photograph of his father and Uncle Aloysius in their younger days. But he did not recognise the woman they were embracing. Curiousity got the better of him and he moved the pen to pick up the  thin, browning piece of paper.

In the instant Tom's index finger touched the pen, he felt a tremendous weight descend upon him, forcing him into the carmine-red leather chair at the desk. 

The young boy was flabbergasted as he struggled mightily to get up, but his effort was futile against this invisible force.

Against his will, Tom's hand picked up the silver pen and started writing, on the table. Tom's face was a contorted picture of confusion and fear. He wanted to scream for help but only a voiceless gasp made its way of out his throat.

Slowly, he saw letters forming as his hand moved: "T-o-m h-e-l-p m-e"

As soon as the last letter was finished, Tom felt the weight lift from his body and he collapsed into the chair, dropping the pen with a loud clatter. 

"Oh my god, oh my god..what on Earth just happened?" Tom muttered incoherently to himself while breathing heavily.  

He leaned forward apprehensively and looked at the message again. The cursive font was scratched deeply into the golden surface and it was clear. 

"Tom help me"

Someone, or some thing, knew who he was and wanted his help. Tom picked up the silver pen and saw that its ink tip was still intact, making what happened just now incomprenhensible to his mind. 

"I really hope Dad doesn't see this!" Tom uttered, suddenly more concerned about having destroyed his dad's furniture and leaving his name behind, literally. 

Right away, he heard loud footsteps approaching the study and hastily dived into the bookshelves to the right of the table, hoping to hide himself within them. 

Peeping across the books, Tom saw his father approach the table, and pick up the old photograph when he suddenly shifted his gaze to the space where the message was scratched. Tim Radnog's expression was initially impassive and Tom observed it changing to one of shock and disbelief. Was there also something else he saw in his father's eyes, something more cruel and hateful? Tom dismissed that thought quickly and held his breath as Tim looked around the room, as if scanning for an intruder.  The tension Tom felt seemed thick enough to choke the life out of him there and then.

Tim's beady eyes stopped moving when he laid them on the bookshelves, right where Tom was hiding. 

"Come out, come out wherever you are.." Tim called out in an uncharacteristically singsong voice, sending goosebumps all over Tom's body. The silence that followed fell upon two of them like a woollen blanket, absorbing all sounds of life, and made the room feel bigger than ever. 

"You better come out now... Don't make me find you!" Tim suddenly snarled, his face darkening and changing into an ugly mask. 

Left with no choice, Tom stepped out from behind the towering bookshelf and faced his father.

"It.. It wasn't me Dad! The pen.. It just started wri-" Tom started explaining himself, eager to calm his father down.

Tim Radnog cut him off abruptly and said in a stage whisper: "It's alright son, as long as we don't tell anyone about it, shall we?" 

"Er..... Okay?" Tom was caught by surprise at his dad's second moodswing of the day. From his dad's initial reaction, he was expecting to be punished or scolded but he was let off the hook just like that. 

"Pinky promise?" asked Tim as he winked, albeit a bit too cheerily.

"Pinky promise." Tom replied his dad, as a nagging sensation settled in his gut.

"Come now, why would I blame my dearest son for such a small matter?" said Tim as he led them out of the study. 

Tom wasn't listening as he took a backward glance towards the table, and he thought he saw the woman from the picture standing there, looking straight at him. 

***to be continued in Chapter 2***

Tom - Chapter 1 (Part I)

"Wake up, Master Tom! Your breakfast's reeeeaaaady!!!!" bellowed Mary, one of his house maids, from the kitchen.

"Ngghhhh... " Tom mumbled into his fluffed up pillows and continued sleeping, sprawled wide across on his king-sized bed.

"Where on Earth is Tom?" his father's question floated up the stairs and Tom sprinted up from bed straight into the bath to get dressed.

Tom presented himself at the table in a white short sleeved shirt, his father's favourite, and crisp brown trousers.

"Morning Dad!" Tom greeted his dad cheerfully for he was glad to spend time with him before he took off again for another business trip.

"Mornin' son... wow you look nice in this shirt! Come here, let's have a man hug shall we?" Mr Radnog replied in equally high spirits as he looked up from his morning papers of The Strict Times. At full height, Tim Radnog was half a head shorter than Tom, who was already 1.7m at 16years old. 

"Oh god Dad, please don't talk like that!" groaned Tom as he obliged.

"Some coffee, tea or juice for you, Master Tom?" Mary offered with a tray of steaming pots on her right hand, as she wiped her brow with her left.

"Just orange juice plea-" Tom's reply was cut off by the loud obnoxious blare of the mansion's doorbell. 

"Ah that must be Sir Aloysius!" uttered Mary as she hurried toward the door.

"Oh dear... Aloysius as in Uncle Aloysius?" Tom groaned silently in his mind.

Tom never really fancied Aloysius Radnog, his father's younger brother. The unmarried man was always in a sully mood and snapped at everyone around him, even at Tim. Whenever Tom tried to make conversation, it was usually painfully awkward or abruptly cut off by his uncle's sarcastic replies.

His recollection of memories, however little they were, was broken by his dad's cheerful voice approaching the kitchen, conversing with his uncle: "How are things lately, Aloysius?" 

"Couldn't been better." Aloysius replied in his usual gravelly monotone, while throwing a side glance to Tom before dragging out the chair for a seat at the table. 

"Sir Aloysius, would you like some-" Mary was cut off mid sentence as Aloysius reached out to her tray and served his own coffee.

"And where's the milk and sugar?" Aloysius asked while looking directly at Tom, who flustered to get some from Mary's serving tray, which was just set down opposite Aloysius. 

Tom studied his uncle surreptitiously, as he talked solemnly with his father. Aloysius Radnog seemed more gaunt than before, with some white hairs flanking his long face. His usual grim expression also looked more set with the appearance of a deep frown line in the middle of his forehead. 

His uncle was tall and slim, and he looked about 1.9m to Tom. 

Tom wondered if his uncle had lost weight as well, as he observed his black jacket hanging loosely off him. 

Prologue - Tom

Tom took a step forward and plunged into darkness, fear and confusion swallowing him whole as he slid down a slimy tunnel that never seemed to end. After being thoroughly disoriented, he landed with a loud thud and bright lights flooded his vision immediately. As he was squinting to get his eyes adjusted, he could hear voices shouting around him and made out a few sentences: "Hurry up! Hurry!!!" "They will die if you don't get there fast enough!" "More have arrived!" 

"What is going on?? Where a- " Tom uttered out loud, but he was grabbed by the collar before he could finish. The dirty and coarse hand he was looking at pulled him to a stand.

"Go to your post, boy!" A towering figure of nearly 2 metres shouted gruffly at Tom and shoved him into a line of workers, busy sieving out parts of machinery and metal. Tom stood there awkwardly, feeling extremely out of place and uncertain of himself when someone gave him a gentle nudge. 

"It's always like that at the start eh? Just follow what I'm doing and you'll be fine." 

Tom turned around and stared blankly at the lanky chap who spoke. 

"Oh my. Still in shock I see! By the way, my name's Andy and you?" Andy winked and stuck his hand out. Tom shook it nervously, replying: "Er.. Hi. I'm Tom." 

"Tom??? The Tom?!" 

"What...?" 

"Let me show you! We have been waiting for you for so long!"

And just like that, Tom was brought into a world that was rightfully his to fight for. 

OMG HI!

I literally swept this blog under the dust of virtual reality and did not revisit it once since its birth.
But as I start my story-writing adventure on the Dayre platform, I find it necessary to be re-looking into blogspot for an alternative as my stories get longer and better.
So HI!!!

For those interested to follow "Tom", please click on https://dayre.me/s7nne.

Mandatory first: The March

My post title's a waste of words.
Necessary first. Duh.

Well, never mind that.
Decided that I can't live without airing my opinions and keeping them to a select few, being the opinionated bitch I am. Who aint? Just depends on how well we all hide it ;) let's all go awwwwww now shall we?

I happen to know a few who hide it really well. Pretty please teach me a trick or two if we ever become BFFs, okay? And that's when Singapore will become tax-free, with cheap-ass property for sale next door, coupled with free door gifts.

Enough bitching.

Why so serious? is started for my need to engage in the freedom of speech with the freedom of expresison.
Nobody who is the owner of this blog, at least for now, so I'd like to take this wondrous opportunitiy to comment about anything too serious in life and welcome all public speculation. I am friendly, you know.

That's why I got a pink layout. Cute & friendly. Right.

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For starters, let me begin with:

The mundane MMM we have to face almost daily, Monday - Friday.
The Morning MRT March:

It has been bugging me how normal people don't look normal at all when we partake in this march into the train stations, and trains; both being very separate matters altogether. For today, it will be on the March. Before I go on, let me explain the specimen that is omnipresent every morning: the Marchers and its sub-species, the Rushers.

Rushers and Marchers look exactly the same, with formal-looking clothes that are dull coloured and some times ill-fitting.  The five facial elements, namely the 2 eyes, 1 nose and 1 mouth, are almost always tightly squeezed together, like a......... tightly squeezed lemon. Ah yes, that took me a while as it was hard to place a logical understanding on how a human face can look so much like a bright yellow fruit.

Rushers are the humans who are on a tight schedule, and every second counts to them, as it would be a matter of life and death if they were to miss the Holy Train to a place, called the Holy Workplace. I know, how serious right? So, the smart Marchers rapidly give way to their kin, not wanting themselves to suffer any unnecessary commiseration and await their own entry into the next Holy Train.

It can be rather tough to differentiate a Rusher from a Marcher at first, until the discerning moment at the travellator because both look like Tightly Squeezed Lemons. I shall go into that later. For now, let me explain the transformation from a mere Human to a Marcher.

From the moment a Human's leg land on the premise of a station, I notice how the expression changes.
It is usually from one of dull boredom to one that suddenly becomes alarmingly alert as the eyes begin to scan the electronic boards for the arrival of the next train. Once the eyes become alert, the Human has offically been Marcherlised. With the timing registered in rapid seconds, the footsteps transform into a rapid, rhythmic march, going 1-2,1-2,1-2, determined and hell-bent, towards the control station. It is also here that the Marcher does a swift manoeuvre into the bag or pocket to retrieve the prized EZ-link card, that will gain it access into the Holy Train.

While marching, all obstacles, mainly other slower moving Humans, are removed with an irritated "Tsch" or sometimes, a rough shove of the hands and even bags, just so the obstacle will be made aware and siam asap to avoid imminent danger to the already short lifespan of a Human.

Upon gaining entry into the train station, the march continues in the same 1-2, 1-2,1-2 pattern up the travellator, with most Marchers keeping to the left of it, for fear of being shoved in the back by the onrush of the subspecies of marchers, the "Rushers".

The moment of discerning dawns. Rushers show their true colours by increasing their marching tempo to that of a 1-2-3,1-2-3,1-2-3 pattern, just a fraction short of running, as they are usually encumbered by really tall heels or heavy shiny shoes. Sigh, these Poor Rushers. They start the 1-2-3 march up the travellator with an intense gaze and make a rapid dash into the Holy Train before the doors zip shut on them. I congratulate the successful completion of their mission, as the Rushers must be happy, with their expression always changing to something similar of a less tightly squeezed lemon once behind the glass doors. However, it can get confusing at times, as the Rushers end up more tightly squeezed than before, by other Marchers in the Holy Train squeezing their Tightly Squeezed Lemon faces against the glass doors.

Marchers, on the other hand, would have made their way to the platform by now, and bid goodbye to their kin with a similar Tightly Squeezed Face. It must be a Marcher and Rusher culture. The Marchers, when at the platform, will start displaying a cycle of anxiety, and it always goes like this: 1) An incessant checking of the platform's Big-Faced Clock, followed by: 2) an incessant checking of their own Small-Faced watches and lastly: 3)an incessant checking of Steve Job's invention, the iPhone. The cycle usually repeats for 2-3 rounds before it ends, with each Marcher's face getting squeezed even tighter, until the Holy Train beeps its arrival.

At this euphoric moment, there is this almost synchronised inching across the yellow line on the platform, and a sudden buzz of energy as each Marcher await the opening of the Holy Train's doors excitedly. Such amazing coordination these Marchers have; they would stand a fair chance in some sort of synchronised competition.

Once the doors open, the Marchers file in solemnly, one after another, occasionally with some errant Rushers elbowing their way in, and find their places in the Holy Train. Lucky Marchers will be able to find a seat on the train, otherwise they continue standing upright and erect on their tall heels or heavy shiny shoes all the way to the Holy Workplace. For the Marchers who are able to sit down, their expression switches, almost instantenously, to the same dull expression before they stepped into the station, reverting back to a Human again. However, this human form will remain comatose all the way on the Holy Train's seat until the arrival at the Holy Workplace, so it is only Half-Human. For the remaining Marchers who are unable to sit, the same Tightly Squeezed Lemon expression stays on their faces until the arrival at the Holy Workplace.

Poor Marchers.
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I don't know which is better, to be a Marcher, Rusher or the Half-Human.
But the question is, why so serious? ;)