A cold, hard floor. Nothing to see but the outline of a window, a greyness in the black. My back against the wall, knees tucked up to my chest, trying to make myself as small as I can be.
A voice, screaming, shouting, howling. Words I can’t understand, but I feel the spite, the anger, the threat. I hold my hands over my ears to muffle the sound, tears streaming down my face, wishing for comfort and light and warmth.
A rumble that gets louder and masks the noise of the shouting; a train, going somewhere, going nowhere, passing outside the window. It begins to fade and I wish for it back, to take me anywhere but here. It trails away and there is only the anger again, and fear. This time I scream too.