Twenty two year old Beth Lestrade screamed and yanked the offending piece of sharp metal out of her thumb, stuffing the finger into her mouth. The silver sewing needle glinted almost boastingly at her under the neon light.

"Grrrrrrrr." Glaring with narrowed eyes, Beth took her thumb out of her mouth and rethreaded the obnoxious needle.

"Hmph, you useless piece of twenty-first century junk! I'll show you! ." Angrily Beth picked up her project and started sewing again. "Edith is right. I really should get a sewing machine if I want to continue making these dresses." Lestrade thought out loud as she squinted down at the lacy trim of the underskirt. "But that would make it so much less authentic. white thread on white lace on white. What was I thinking?" Shaking her head resignedly, she was silent, completely absorbed in her little stitches that would never be seen.

Hours went by, rush-hour traffic came and went. Yells and calls echoed outside the dorm room. Lights went on and lights went off, things broke, lives ended and started. Friendships were cast aside and new ones began, love was severed and love was sewn back together. it was all lost on the university student busy remaking the piece of history she wished she hadn't missed out on.

A violin CD whispered mournfully in the background as she packed away her supplies. Neatly, everything in its predetermined place. The dress was hung up, its wrinkles gently smoothed out. Beth sighed, running her fingers down the fabric. The skirt was delicate and looked so out of place hidden between modern day clothes. Like a lost ghost somehow stuck on a crowded subway.

Beth shook her head. It was just a sewing project. An underskirt at that. It had absolutely no spiritual value whatsoever. Giving the dress a final smoothing, Lestrade went off too bed. But as she pulled the covers over her, she couldn't help but think of how she felt like a ghost, ignored and invisible, stuck in a crowded subway car, not knowing how she managed to get there.