Silent Assault

Hank thought it was odd to see a mime at the local convenience store. He’d been going to the same little quick stop place for 10 years to get his morning coffee and newspaper before heading to work. The mime was doing that “walking against the wind” thing and “guy tugging on an imaginary rope” gag. The mime was pretty good; obviously he’d been training for a while at some liberal arts college.

Hank made his was up to the train platform and walked toward his usual place. He liked to stand near the fence where the front train car often stopped. Plus in the winter time the area provided a little shelter from the howling winds. As he moved to his usual spot he saw another mime. This mime was across the train tracks and he was climbing an imaginary ladder to nowhere. Some other commuters were watching and seemed to be enjoying this little display of imaginary motion. Hank considered the whole thing a little strange but it was the big city and these things sometimes happened.

The train screeched into the station stop and Hank and the other commuters boarded. The train was unusually crowded this morning and he could barely find a seat. Hank sat next to an older man who grumbled a bit as Hank tried to get comfortable and open his paper. Hank always wondered why people took it so personally when someone sat next to them. I mean, if they wanted to sit in a single seat they should go upstairs where there are single seats available and not try to hog a two seater. It was called sharing. Hank opened his paper and started to scan the headlines. It was the usual murder and death and poverty.

The silence was what caught Hank’s attention. Usually there’s a little noise on the train car, people on their cell phones or talking to each other, but this morning there was nothing. It was like a tomb on the train car. Hank looked up from his paper and glanced at the seats across from him. More mimes. In fact there were four mimes sitting silently across from each other; all in their black and white striped shirts, black suspenders and black tight pants. They all had their faces painted in the customary white-face with the little black triangles under their eyes. Hank got the shivers.

He leaned over and looked back down the train car and mixed in among the regular commuters were six more mimes. Hank looked at a young woman he see’s regularly on the train and she just shrugged at him. Clearly she thought it was odd there were so many mimes about as well. Hank looked back to his newspaper and flipped through the pages to see if there were any articles about some mime fest or something going on downtown. He didn’t see anything, but then again, that wasn’t all that unusual.

The train pulled into the next station and the doors opened. Hank looked out the window over the grumbling old man and saw at least eight more mimes. They were all getting on his train. Hank started to feel tightness in his chest. The mimes boarded the train and stood in the aisle, silent and stoic. Hank then realized he hadn’t seen a conductor come through the train car to collect tickets. The tightness in his chest got worse.

Hank looked back over his shoulder to the young woman but he couldn’t see her, too many mimes were now blocking his view. There were at least 18 now riding his car and he wondered how many more there might be. He had to find out what was going on. He looked at the mime nearest him.

“Excuse me, but what with all the mimes?”

The mime looked at Hank and made the “my lips are locked and I just threw away the key” motion. Hank didn’t know if that was a real answer and he didn’t like the way the mime had looked at him.

“I know you’re all doing some kind of bit but really, what’s with all the mimes? Is there a conference of mimes or something?”

The mime gestured like he couldn’t hear Hank and then looked away from him.

Now Hank felt panic starting to enter his mind.

The train conductor usually made an announcement as they pulled into the downtown station, but this morning there was silence. The train pulled in as usual and came to a stop. The train doors opened and all the mimes came streaming out of the cars. Hank stood up and tried to move his way through the throngs of mimes. The whole damn station was filled with them. Hank tried to find some of the other regular commuters but they were obscured in a sea of black and white striped shirts and guys pretend roller skating.

Hank was caught in a wave of the wave of mimes as they moved through the train station. He couldn’t see any single regular person anywhere. Mimes, mimes, mimes, were everywhere. Hank started to run through the silent crowd, even pushing some of those quiet bastards out of his way. He pushed his way down the escalator and ran out through the train station doors onto the street.

No horns honking, no sirens wailing in the distance, nothing, silence. The street was filled with mimes. Hank grabbed a white faced woman and shook her by the shoulders.

“What the hell is going on”, he yelled at her.

She looked at him and slowly lifted a white gloved hand to her throat and made the “slitting your throat from ear to ear”, gesture.

Hank let her shoulders go and stumbled backwards into the flailing arms of mimes trapped in glass boxes. He put his hands to his head and screamed; his voice the only sound echoing through the streets. He struggled to get to his feet but an imaginary rope had been thrown around his waist and he couldn’t seem to get away. The mimes enveloped Hank and his screams slowly faded into the silence.