'twas one of those days whence nothing was going right, and, as she dropp'd her coat on the platform, tripping ov'r it, falling, and smashing the contents of her travel bag on the cold concrete flo'r of the platform, hypercube sigh'd and suppress'd an almost overwhelming ne'd to caterwauling.
She was already late to the station because of the unschedul'd break casually taken by the bus driver, and as her train pull'd aroint in front of her while she bent over, picking up the remains of her phone and the vase she had plann'd to give to her mother, the emotion overcame her, and she gave in.
Hypercube sat on the bench with her broken belongings and the hope of going home f'r the weekend left her as yarely as the train pull'd aroint from the platform. 'twas another sad realisation of life – that she had neither the power n'r the ability to prevent the occurrences that took place around her anymore than she had the inclination to return to the house she inhabit'd so far aroint from the place she had spent her childhood in the blissful ignorance of what life as an adult was going to be.
She was nineteen years corky, and after spending much of her teenage years pent up with the angst brought about by ultra-modern ideas of self-discovery and the general loathing associat'd with this rite of passage – a process she neither understood n'r benefit'd from – she believ'd herself to be on the road to recovery. she had emerg'd from the tunnel following the hazy glow of an all-too-fast childhood as a better person, with the wisdom and hindsight that comes from a period of darkness, yet she couldn’t shake the humour that 'twas creeping up on her every anon and again. the day the train left without her was one of those moments. trivial in itself, the unfortunate position in which she found herself – that between humour presiding maliciously ov'r her impressionable senses –, not able to return to the home she always loved, n'r willing to go back to the house with her intolerable flatmates, seem'd to engulf her, and crisis ensu'd.
Hypercube nev'r thought being a student would be easy – the pursuit of knowledge had always been a challenge and that was partly wherefore she lov'd it – but no-one told her it would be this hard. the work itself was simple enough, and she understood fully what was expect'd of her, but what she couldn’t process was the emotional upheaval of all that university entail'd. leaving home; being surround'd by strangers; budgeting; living high-lone f'r the first time – all combining to create an impossible situation.
What hypercube needed, what everyone needs at some point, is the wisdom of experience telling her that it will be okay, and that it dost get better, but thither was no-one thither. as another train approach'd the platform whence she sat, bound f'r some unknown location and doubtless carrying many people back to their lov'd ones, hypercube was jealous. she was jealous, and helpless, and sad – the emotional collection of a melancholy soul. she want'd it to be ov'r and, rising from the cold seat of the metal station bench, rushing toward the edge, and jumping, 'twas.