The Train.

Week 45: A story about a near-death experience.

The train is approaching. She can see it in the distance. A blur of white and blue, the chugging of the wheels on the track are a loud, obnoxious sound, they taunt her, screeching. Like nails on a black board. The legs of a chair on wooden floor. She could do it. It was right there. Her ticket out of here. Her ride away from the life she’d put together in a somewhat functional state.

She could close her eyes and forget the world. She could soar into the sky and be lost to the wind. She could splatter this entire platform with her magic, with her touch, her kiss, her hands, her blood. Like an open canvas, she could splash all over it, like trickling water, the colours of paints mingling into one mess. A beautifully morbid piece of grotesque art.

Her last mark left on this Earth. The scream on her lips. The tears on her cheeks. The blood clinging to the tracks, to the horrified people watching. To the entire world who stood and watched as blood seeped into their lives, twisting its way around their hearts. And the next day, she would be forgotten to the majority. She would be a selfish cow in a worker’s story, a poor girl in another’s, she would be a disgusting human being in a boss’, because damn it, he was late for his meeting and some depressed bitch stopped him from getting a pay raise. She would be a monster and a victim. A helpless soul, who was painted as the lost, traumatised human being and the villain of the story.

She would be the cause of broken hearts and sobbing at funerals. She would watch as the sky consumed her and she returned to wherever the hell we came from. She’d become nothing more than stardust, travelling through time and space, watching millions of years pass. She would become one with nature, back into the dirt and ocean where we came from, in the winds and in the autumn leaves, in the colour of tree bark and the bird’s morning song. There, you would find her. Forevermore.

“The train is now approaching the platform. Please stand behind the yellow lines for your own safety.”

The moment’s past.

She steps back.

Death would have to wait.


4 thoughts on “The Train.

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