Some think that every choice we make creates a new reality. That life is just a spiral of trillions and trillions of possibilities. What people don’t think of are the ones that don’t happen. The truth is, you’ll never know how close you came to living one of those other realities. 

Sometimes, the difference could be as simple as deciding whether or not to have breakfast in the morning, to drive or walk, the blue shirt or the green.

As a woman sporting a briefcase and a bad attitude storms her way through the dark hallways below the bustling city, she doesn’t think of any reality except her own. Her mind is too busy being a mess of tangled up thoughts and plans that she has no more space for such daunting thoughts. A glance down at her gold plated watch causes her silky auburn hair to sweep into her eyes. Frustrated, she swipes at the strands, having just realised the true extent of her lateness. The spaces between her steps grow smaller as she rushes against time.

A dull ache spreads through her ankles as her feet scream at her. Her cloudy breath puffs into the air, transformed into white smoke by the crisp November breeze.

The strap of the spruce brown briefcase digs into the skin of her tanned palm, however she is unbothered by it. One doesn’t get to be in a position as high as hers without carrying many a briefcase. Her calculating ice blue eyes scan the space in front of her.

The subway station is nearly empty at this time, an odd phenomenon, but convenient nonetheless. The usual multitudinous crowd of aimless tourists and tired civilians are nowhere to be found.

As the businesswoman runs a hand over her watch, a habit of hers picked up through years of stress, her shoulder crashes against another.

The other person mumbles a quick sorry, barely glancing at the person she had hit.

It just so happens that there are two people running late on this particular damp morning. A blonde woman adjusts the strap on her purse, rebalancing it after the slight collision she had just been wrapped up in. The brunettes’ bottom lip juts out as she spares a peek at the blonde that had just passed her.

“Rude,” she mumbles under her breath- quiet enough to only be discernible to her ears.

She closes her eyes and shakes her head back and forth, as if to push the negative thoughts out of her mind. She tries to remind herself that she has an important meeting today, one that could easily be ruined if she shows up in a bad mood. Speaking of ruining things, her cerulean irises flitted up to the large clock placed on the support beam above her hair. If only she had skipped that bagel this morning, maybe then she would have been walking these halls without the weight of a tight schedule on her shoulders. Unfortunately she never could resist the temptation of gooey freshly baked bread dripping with slightly melted cream cheese that always seemed to taunt her when she was running late.

A loud clattering brings a squint to her eyes, trying to see what all the commotion is about. The few steps she takes afterwards allow her to see through the abysmal lighting in the hallway to her right. A large, rather stout man in an ill fitting white polo shirt and greasy jeans that might once have been dark blue is kneeled on the floor before a large pile.

The spatially inept blonde, having arrived a few seconds earlier, witnessed the whole event. The man had been carrying a large moving box. Inside were papers, metal items, and quite unfortunately, a container of marbles. Why he was walking through the entrance to a subway station at an ungodly hour of the morning with a jar of poorly closed marbles remains unknown. It seemed like an unthought out- and quite frankly, odd- decision. Regardless of his reasoning, much to the dismay of everyone around him, he had tripped over an umbrella that lay discarded on the floor and promptly plummeted to the ground, taking his collection of nicknacks with him.

The ricocheting of glass on stone made everyone turn their heads and walk towards the damp hallway.

“Great,” mumble the two women in unison, realizing that their path was now irreversibly blocked by the blundering travellers. For the moment at least, there was no way through.

The not-so-quiet protests of the few irritable pedestrians still occupying the hallway expanded to fill the space around the frazzled man. Chaos ensues as the man attempts to collect the marbles, failing miserably. One black-haired teenager with well-loved cargo pants was trying to make sense of the many papers, but from the looks of it that was going to take a while. All she had managed to do so far was swipe her mahogany irises across the pile in overwhelmed confusion.

Sacrificing any hope she had left of being on time, the blonde leans down to assist the man and girl in gathering the items.

Briefcase woman checks the time once more, as if expecting it to have rewound or stopped all together. Realizing that, despite what she may hope for, time continues to stubbornly move at its usual pace, she steps out of the crowd.

Some may say that it was at this moment the realities split.

The woman, having had enough of standing by, walks the few steps back to the fork in the hallway and dashes over to the left side. It wasn’t the most direct route, but she would have to make due. All she knew was that she certainly wasn’t going to just stand there and do nothing while the clock continued to tick away.

A shifting of shadows goes unnoticed by the woman, who is too wrapped up in her own self pity to notice how a dark figure lurks at the end of the hallway. A single beam of light falls upon the grimy face of a black-clothed man. His dark eyes zero in on their target. Or more specifically, the gold plated watch their target is currently checking for what must be the hundredth time that morning.

He leaps into action, blocking the path of the woman with his tall, sturdy frame.

“What are you-” she begins to snap impatiently.

“Give me the watch!” He yells at her, before hastily adding “And the rest of it too!”

Fear runs through her, grabbing her heart in its icy grip. She cries out, desperate for anyone to hear her, see her, help her. But no one comes. They’re all too busy worrying about the clumsy man in the other hallway. No one is thinking about the deserted corridor that lies on the other side of the busy passageway.

The man lunges for her, grabbing her wrist. She backs away from his groping hands, swinging her briefcase at his head with all the force she can muster. He dodges, starting forward with new intensity. Only now, a glint of silver catches the woman's eyes. Before she can even process it, deep crimson drops are flowing from her stomach.

Her blue eyes widen as she stares down to the knife hilt protruding from her stomach. Her hands loosely grip at her blazer, blue fabric now stained with red. The man grabs her watch, yanking at the delicate diamond necklace resting above her collarbone before taking off into the hallway, disappearing amongst the shadows.

A choke leaves her open mouth, the sound bouncing off the walls uselessly. One final spark of fear flashes through her eyes before they glaze over. The body goes still, slumped against the floor at an unnatural angle while her unblinking eyes stare permanently forward.

Police sirens sound in the distance.

But the body had gone cold by now, only discovered when an unfortunate older gentleman looking for the bathrooms came across the deceased woman twenty minutes after the attack.

If anything that day had been different, perhaps the woman's life would have been saved. If the greasy man had remembered where he put his keys instead of looking for them for an extra two minutes, he wouldn’t have been there to drop his things.  If the brunette had resisted the temptation and not eaten that bagel in the morning, she would have been on time. If the blonde had managed to be on time, she wouldn’t have delayed the brunette by accidentally bumping into her. If the anonymous child from earlier hadn’t dropped his umbrella in the hallway, the man wouldn't have had anything to trip on.

But they did.

Only, what if she hadn’t gone into the left hallway? In another reality, the woman could have knelt down to help the man with his things. In some universe, she did. That woman now sets aside her heavy case, glancing at the titles of the spread papers to try and make sense of them.

She takes a deep breath as the four crouched people begin to put everything back into the large box they came out of. Her patience is thin, but compassion won out in the end, making her stop to help.

If only the meeting she was on her way to would understand her sympathy for the man…

She shook her head as the man loaded the last of his things into the box.

“Thank you,” he smiles at the three people who had helped him. They all utter something along the lines of ‘you're welcome,’ or ‘no problem’ before separating. Now that the obstacle had been dealt with, the ten or so people that had built up in the passageway moved to catch the subway train before it would take off.

The brunette is among them, fighting her way through the crowd.

Only when she gets there, the display above the stop reads “NEXT ARRIVAL: 30 MINUTES” in large blue print.

She mutters a few curses better left unspecified before reluctantly taking a seat.

In the other reality, an officer takes a seat next to the body, checking for lividity so he can more accurately place the time of death. He feels a slight pang in his heart at the sight. No matter how many crime scenes he goes to, he never gets used to the sight of a corpse.

The brunette waiting by the subway station never got used to the squealing sound that the train makes when it comes in. She jumps slightly, putting a hand to her chest above her sparkling diamond necklace before getting up from her seat and hurrying through the doors.

Meanwhile, the family of the victim is called into the station to identify the body. A terrified-looking man who the officer assumes is the husband runs up to the yellow caution lines.

The brunette looks up at the digital clock hanging above the windshield.

“Great.” She says to herself. “My supervisor is never going to forgive me for this.” She pauses to look out the window before muttering “I should have just gone through the left side of the hallway.”

She would remain forever oblivious to the tragedy she had avoided, as people often do.

“I-Its her.” The husband said, his voice cracking.

A tear rolled down his cheek. And the train rolled out of the station.