Writing for Fun
November 2018
The Pulse - Maureen Rampersaud
The carriage was virtually empty as the train left London, the noise and the pressure of his working day was still with him. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his temples, feeling the pain pulsing through him. Opening his eyes, he wasn’t surprised to see the familiar circles of light that heralded one of his migraines.
He was astonished when the girl opposite stood up and commanded, ‘Put your hands down!’
This struck him, rather comically, as a phrase akin to an old western film. Did she mean to say ‘put your hands up?!’ Was this a robbery? She put her fingers each side of his nose, then below his eyebrows and finally she massaged his temples, all the time insisting that he relaxed his shoulders. In view of the fact he was letting a complete stranger take control of him, as well as invading his personal space, he was surprised to feel himself slipping into a trance-like state.
‘I think you’ll be alright now.’
He woke up as she sat down. His head was clear.
‘How on earth did you do that?’
‘My mum’s Irish. She said that we come from a long line of mystical healers . . . I suppose I have the magic touch,’ she giggled.
His pulse raced as he noticed her perfect teeth, sparkling green eyes and long, red hair. He took her hand as he said, ‘Will you marry me?’