Dead between Ashfield and Redfern

During the quiet moments of the night, the dead zone is forever alive with digital inactivity.

Image Credit: Nandini Dhir

Words unheard. 

Emails that bounce back.

Messages trapped in a liminal cage before

delivery.  

The world stands still between Ashfield and Redfern station: in the dead zone. A space where Telstra and Optus phone towers can’t be reached, and any connection to the world outside the train carriage is non-existent. 

The train carriage brims with Year 12s in disheveled uniforms, freshly-minted first year uni students, and everyone else. Heads downcast, foreheads face the floor, and everyone doom scrolls faster than the T1 express. 

Until, of course, the train, heading east, nears Ashfield — and enters the dead zone. A chorus of mutters fill the carriages. A rolling wave of heads rise as everyone looks up, searching for meaning in this meaningless world. People remove their noise-cancelling headphones, ears awash with metal screams.

A working professional sits on the single back-facing seat — a rarity during peak hour — laptop satchel in her lap, zoom running on her phone. As she runs late for a 9am meeting, in a sardine-packed T1 Western line, she blurs her Zoom background, unaware of the redundancy package scheduled in her boss’ outbox. As the termination of her job unknowingly approaches, the train enters the dead zone. The frozen frames stutter and broken sentences become mouthed words, until there is only silence. Poor connection. She continues to nod along until the meeting comes to a close, checking her emails before the train terminates at Central. 

During the quiet moments of the night, the dead zone is forever alive with digital inactivity. Even the uni student, who regrets going out on the night their assignment is due, faces the terrors of the dead zone. They get on the train with the luxury of a six-seater. Heading west, they bluff their last few references as the deadline inches closer. They send the push notification to Okta and submit with an exhale of relief at 11:58pm — only to have entered the dead zone. In desperation, they hit the refresh button, they try Safari, even Firefox. They fail to accept their fate in the dead zone. 

What happens to the digital prints that are lost in the dead zone? The unsent text messages, the posts

that fail to upload, the words said over 

the phone that become unspoken, 

the unsubmitted 

Assign 

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