The Voice, by Paul Fitzgerald and Elizabeth Gould

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                           - 36 -

"But the light?" I demanded.
"Don't follow the light," Juicy John said in a tone that
struck fear into me. "Not this time. Come."

I thought I was mad, stumbling along into the darkness
away from a rescue team, a strange little midget my only
companion-until all at once, I felt the thump of an
explosion under my feet.

I didn't have to wait for Juicy John this time. In an
instant the force of a tremendous explosion filled the
tunnel with a blinding white light and I was blown down,
face first into the pit.

A moment later the debris from the train roared over us
and when I lifted my head, all that remained were six sets
of wheels and a flaming wreck.

"You knew," I said as I stared at the midget, busily
brushing himself off as he struggled to his feet.

"I guessed," he said gravely.

"But why did you choose me to save?" I asked, trying to
settle myself down as I watched the flames dance over the
little man's face.

"You saved me," he said, simply and to the point. "And
that has put me in your debt."

I stood for a moment and stared at the wreckage and
marveled. Standing on the platform of the station only
minutes before, I had seen my life at an end with no meaning
and no future.

Now I was standing in a subway tunnel covered in soot,
with a prophetic midget named Juicy.

Life was strange and getting stranger but I was in no
position to refuse now. Smoke was filling the tunnel. If
there was to be a future I knew it had to start now. I
turned to the little man and patted him on the head. Then
without a word, we began our escape.