Last Train

As she quickly raced slap a bit of make-up on her face, dawn reflected on how it looked like being one of those days. She sprinted to the station in time to watch her train pull away and see that the next one was cancelled, the two after that delayed. The one she got was heaving, boiling, bodies packed in every space, she spent half an hour with someone's sweaty armpit in her face. The Croydon facelift jammed against her pulled her mobile out, that's when our protagonist felt the red mist start to descend.
She tried to block it out but that voice was so loud, what Sharon said to Tracy making her head pound, her knuckles whitened, her jaw clenched tight and her last shred of patience died, and something went snap inside.
Now she's making a mess, busting caps, chopping off heads til just a stack of body parts remains, thinking 'lucky I came here to die cos this was my best shirt that i've now soaked with blood and brains and that stuff really stains'.
Dawn couldn't quite remember what first drove her to replace the pens and paper and laptop in her briefcase with the machete and Uzi she used to let years of anger out for every injustice she faced and did nothing about - every prick who elbowed their way through her to take a seat she was on her way to, the fucks with their feet up and bags taking seats up. Her 12-inch blade made sure they won't do that anymore.
Now she's making a mess, busting caps, chopping off heads til just a stack of body parts remains, thinking 'lucky I came here to die cos this was my best shirt that I've now soaked with blood and brains and that stuff really stains'.
She'd done it a thousand times already in her head so was calm repainting her carriage a fetching shade of red, and when the last screams died she turned her gun around and then said 'ah' and made sure she'd never have to get the train to work again.