‘The next train to depart from Platform One is the 9:05 Flinders Street Line stopping all stations to Flinders Street.’ She takes the steps quickly, her hand slides along the rail. She is dishevelled, her mouth set in a pale line. There are a dozen or so people on the platform but she sets her sights on a man, standing there in a sweatshirt, a blue hat on his head and duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He has his back to her, gazing down at the phone in his hand.

Waiting in the shade on the platform, she glances back up the steps towards the street, then watches the man until the tracks begin to sing, a subtle high-pitched shriek that grows into a grumble.

The man looks up now, turning his head and watching down the tracks for the oncoming train. A light at first that grows brighter and brighter. It’s loud now, so loud he doesn’t hear her striding forward. The man turns back, raises his hands in defense, but half a second too late. She shoves him with all of her strength. The train is gliding into the station. His weight shifts; a gasp. Then he’s falling. His body thuds against the concrete and rails. The train driver doesn’t have time to apply the brakes; there is no time to do anything…

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