There's a huge jolt. An electric crack, a lurch, and the amplified sound of paper tearing, that might be the unamplified sound of sheet metal being ripped. A grey-brown cloud blooms past the window, accelerated by the confined space of the tunnel. This is followed by people screaming, a sound not delayed by the relative speed of light, but by confusion. Yes, it had happened, and yes, it was ok to scream. The lights flicker and go out, and with the darkness comes sensation; the heat presses in, and the whimpers of a guy sitting three seats away corkscrew down into my ear.
¶ Philip 12:00 am