I then bent over to pick it up ensuring that my cleavage was directly in his line of sight.   Rainbow Girl - Part 4 - Dilemma by Alys

I stared at myself on the large screen in the train carriage. The image was quite blurry, obviously having been taken from my ID photo. It had also been modified by the authorities to make me look sinister and like a terrorist by including small, but visible, references to Mudiad. A dragon logo badge had been attached to the shirt upper pocket and a dragon logo scarf was now worn about the throat. To me the alterations to the image were obvious, after all they weren't on the original in the secret compartment in my bag, but I doubted that many viewers would notice any photo modification. The TV announcer was sounding almost hysterical in his denouncements of me.

"...this young terrorist, who is known by the alias 'Lucky Llyr' , because he has evaded capture so often, is said to also be the mastermind of the incidents at Brighton, at ..........."

The dark suited middle aged announcer then proceeded to list five incidents that I supposedly organised. Looking at the dates and time mentioned I reflected on how clever I must have been to do all this 'terrorism' while in Geography, History, Mathematics, French and English lessons at school. The whole thing was laughable. I stared further at the image and noticed that all New Hope militia insignia had been airbrushed from the clothes.

"He looks a nasty bit of work, don't you think, love?" asked a plump, middle aged woman sat next to me, suddenly bringing me back to the reality of my immediate surroundings.

"I guess he does," I responded in a non committed way.

"These Mudiad should all be shot" announced an elderly man in an old fashioned suit

"Yes," said another elderly gentlemen with a grey moustache "and these young louts on the street should be given national service"

"At least that nice Mrs Blair is trying to do something about them with all this militia and cadet thing in schools," responded the plump middle aged woman.

The three continued their conversation on the same theme for a while. I tuned them out and took out my hairbrush. I brushed out my hair and arranged some of it to fall over the side of my face to obscure it, a little. After seeing myself on the TV, even in male guise, I was acutely aware that my disguise was not fool-proof and someone who compared two pictures of me as a boy and as a girl would be able to see beyond the superficial difference such things such as eyes, nose, cheeks and mouth that corresponded. Although at least there was something else I could do as a girl to improve my chances.

I took out my little compact make-up kit and proceeded to alter my facial appearance as much as possible. Some time later I was happy with the results that appeared in my little mirror.

"Meeting someone?" asked the plump woman.

"Yes, my boyfriend" I lied.

"Lucky him, you look lovely, my dear"

"Thank you"

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Swansea. How about you?"

"Bridgend, to see my nephew and my daughter"

Mrs Plump then proceeded to tell me about her daughter, her son-in-law and their two year old child, how she was proud that her son-in-law had now joined the militia after being unemployed for three years. I inserted a few appreciative comments to keep her talking as I tried to think about my options now that I had been elevated to numero uno on the state's most wanted list. I noticed Mr Moustache was starring at my face. In case he was beginning to see a resemblance to my male face, that he had just seen on the TV, I diverted his attention by removing my cardigan and unbuttoning the top of my blouse.

"It's quite warm in here" I said to Mrs Plump to excuse my disrobing.

"Yes" she agreed and continued with her life story in one train journey. I continued to listen in apparent appreciation. I noticed that Mr Moustache had moved his gaze back up to my face. I was beginning to feel unnerved and fearing exposure I tried another tactic. I dropped my cardigan, apparently accidentally, I then bent over to pick it up ensuring that my cleavage was directly in his line of sight. I then picked up my bag and reached up slowly to put it on the rack almost immediately above his head so that my breasts were briefly only a few inches away from his face.

I noticed his eyes almost bulging out of his sockets and then when I sat down again his gaze no longer moved away from them. I decided that on balance that I would rather be ogled, however unpleasant that was, than be exposed, arrested and who knew what else.

The train began to slow down for Caerdydd station. Mr Moustache began to collect his things with the obvious intention of alighting.

The train speakers crackled into life.

"Bothers and sisters, ladies and gentlemen, this New Hope Western Railways is now approaching Caerdydd station will all passengers who are departing our train service here please.............."

There was a pause and the sound of a conversation in the background, too indistinct to make out.

"..I must apologise but I have just been informed that this train will terminate here, due to circumstances beyond the control of New Hope Western Railways. I repeat that this train will terminate here. All passengers for services further West will be transported on coaches generously provided by New Hope militia. Please take all.................."

I felt a pool of nausea in my stomach and bile in the back of my throat. What did this all mean? I gathered my bag, put my cardigan back on, before going out into the chill November evening. I followed the other passengers onto the platform.

I stood looking at the scene in front of me. Devil or the deep blue sea?

The heavily policed exits to the street or the coaches crewed by militia.