Trains. People come, people go. But are they the same when they get off? Well of course not! But you already knew that! This is a story after all. And not even I would tell such a dull one.
Why read this if you know the ending? You know what I would say here, don't you? So I won't say it! Find a fun reason though, it doesn't have to be that one, (the one we all know about). The one I will not say since it would bring this story down so low I would never be able to raise my head again.
Such silly nonsense, isn't it?
Find a different reason. Keep it in your brain: A question, a thought, an idea. Something so interesting that just the possibility of an answer makes you squeal with excitement. Or have no thoughts at all, no preconceptions on what will happen. Let this little story of mine rush over you with no obstructions.
If you've found that thing, please continue on your journey. You are allowed on. And if you haven't, your ticket has been revoked. Goodbye! This train of mine is not for you. Put this down and find something that will you care about.
For all of you who have found your ticket, welcome aboard! We will commence at the only appropriate place: the station!
Dark and desolate were the most appropriate words for this sort of place. Only in fantasy lands (or real places that prioritize public transportation) were stations kept decent. But here, every surface was thick with dirt. Even the air was coated in a stench that was just a bit too unpleasant. One that makes people wish they didn't need to breathe at all and children hold their breath until their faces are purple or deep red. The only real color that could penetrate here.
There was a girl standing in the center of such a place who decided to forgo touching any of the sticky surfaces even as they enticed her with the help of her achy legs. Cheese traps for mice. But evidently, she was able to withstand the bait.
So there she stands. A suitcase to her side, a bag helping gravity return her body to the soil on her shoulders, and a white crisp slip of paper, indented where her thumb and index pinched it, fearing she would lose the tug-of-war battle with the wind. Even though there was no wind itching to pluck the unassuming paper from all the way down there. Maybe just in her mind. The roaring winds of a chaotic head. The rest of the page hadn't been touched at all. The black bold letters still stained with residual heat from their birthplace, the printer.
This author has forgotten to inform you that the girl is the only one at this particular train station. The rest of the world stood above, stomping the dust out of light fixtures that do nothing to evict the shadows.
Her hair was thin, slashed sharply at her jawline. It would probably have been an almost white blond if color were to flourish in this unkempt station. She wore a black blouse and black pants. Nothing all that special about them. One wouldn't be able to remember any defining features without having their eyes directly pointed at them.
We know nothing of this girl who stands alone at a train station, clutching a paper between two fingers, with a bag over her shoulders, and a suitcase at her side. But we can claim to know something from what I have told you so far.
Does any of this affect your view of this girl? Have you made any speculations? Let me add some more observations to your toolkit and see what you can deduce from there.
She arrived an hour early. Her feet have stood completely inside a singular tile from the moment she waltzed into the station. She looks straight ahead. She doesn't move. Well, I guess she moves a bit, breathing and blinking and whatnot, but nothing unnecessary. She checked the paper and the time over ten times before assuming this position. And now she has become a beautiful abstract statue at the center of the tomb.
The train is late. I state this fact because I find it rather odd. Not that it's late, they usually are, but that she doesn't move even when tens of minutes have passed. Nor does she exhibit any signs of worrying. My initial deductions must be incorrect then. Or she is more complicated than I thought. I would like to know her name.
Oh, but here comes the train.
It whistles long and thunderous, a desperate mating bird. Brakes scratch against steel in a most unpleasant cacophony that someone would call a symphony. It is unassuming from the outside. A grey tin can with ripples wrapping the side, possibly with no other purpose than to show it is not in fact a tin can, and colors painted across neat and orderly, but also with the same sticky look that the rest of the station holds.
The door caved in and a woman stepped out, smiling brightly and waving her arms in the air. She wore a blue pleated skirt with black leggings underneath that oozed into her shoes, a white blouse with a similar blue vest, and a crew's cap that barely fit over her fluffy curls tied up in two pigtails.
This arrival shook the passenger out of her stupor, bringing life back with a sharp intake of musty air and a tightening of her grip on the poor, innocent paper.
"All aboard!" The attendant cheered. "I just love saying that!" With animated bunny hops she descended the little steps and stood in front of the future passenger, if this interaction goes well, at least. The attendant was shorter than the other by a couple of inches. She had to stretch her neck at an unnatural angle to meet the girl's eyes having been standing less than a foot away.
"Ticket please." The word morphed her face into a grin. Relief flooded through the fragile paper as it was handed over, but regret soon trailed with the loss of any remaining crispness as soon as the attendant was in full possession of it. You could hear it sigh in hopelessness.
"Perfect!" She snatched the bag from the accepted passenger. "Let's get you all settled, hop on in Ines!"
And the name has been given. You'll probably want to keep note of that one.
The attendant wasted no time in lugging the suitcase on board. Ines, on the other hand, took a moment to proceed to the next stage, hand weirdly empty, but followed soon enough.
The attendant slid the bag into a compartment filled to the brim with many other plain-colored suitcases. The markets were often overwhelmed with beautiful pinks and neons, yet ordinary people who sit on trains keep their scuffed-up beige and brown and black bags littered with scratches and dirty enough to dull the color further, but useable.
"This way!" The attendant took one step onto the small narrow steps leading to the second floor.
"Wait," Ines spoke her first words. There was a tinge of a French accent in her voice, but just barely enough it was hard to notice.
The attendant spun at full speed back to Ines who got dizzy just watching.
"How can I help you?" She said cheerfully. The attendant's presence was starting to drain Ines of the last specs of energy in her system.
"My bag, I don't want to leave it here." The attendant cocked her head to the side. Her pigtails trailed across her neck and tickled around her chin. She stepped forward, only inches from Ines, and studied her over her eyelashes. The air was motionless between them. Lungs didn't dare disturb it.
The attendant leaned back and the slow current of air restarted. She beamed. Her cheeks became little circles more fit for adorable creatures.
"Why's that?"
"I don't want anyone to steal my things."
"Oooh, that is a conundrum." The attendant tilted further, her head touched the gray wall behind her, and tapped her chin with her index finger. "That's a shame, there is nothing we can do." She shrugged, returning her focus to Ines and dropping her hands. "Do you plan to keep worrying about the inevitable?"
"Hm?" She squinted her eyes.
The attendant rested her hands on her hips and took a breath. "There is nowhere else your bags can go. So, their fate is already decided. Either they will be stolen, or they will not. But no matter what, you can't change the outcome. Will you worry regardless?"
Ines frowned. "Probably."
"Ah, I see." She smiled again and patted Ines's head. "Such a shame then! Let's go!" Ines's shoulders drooped and she sighed. The attendant returned to the stairs. Ines followed. They were narrow and twisted in a circle, opening up to a room packed with leather-bound seats on either side.
"Come on, come on. I'll show you the way!"
There were a few people already tucked into their chairs. Not many. The train was almost empty. Ines only counted two or three.
"Here, this one's yours." She exaggerated her gesture as she showed off Ines's newly acquired seat with unfettered enthusiasm. It was the front row right behind a wall and next to a small door that connected the cars of the train.
Ines bit her lip but moved around the attendant, who stayed frozen in place with arms framing the spot, and settled in. The attendant was about to skip away before Ines held up her hand.
"What's your name, by the way?"
"Such funny questions!" The girl's hair bounced and she left.
Ines raised an eyebrow that went unnoticed and peered over the seat seeing the attendant's retreating figure. She shrugged and turned to the window that held nothing but pure darkness.
I guess questions are only strange depending on the listener. Are these strange ones for you? I would like to know the answer to that. But such a shame I can't! You can't speak to me. Only I can speak to you. Isn't that sad? Everything's so sad.
The world is covered in a veil of sadness.
Or is it just over my head?
Do some see without it?
Another question I will never know!
I'll give you my answer to the first one. You who gets to see everything. And me who doesn't. Or is it the other way around? (I know the answer to this, I'll keep this one hidden from you, do you know it?)
The questions are perfectly normally peculiar.
Do you like my answer?
There was nothing to see, nothing to look at, nothing to do on this train. But Ines didn't seem bothered by this information. She didn't even open her little backpack to pull out any distraction tools. No books, no music, no nothing. Completely satisfied with the thoughts swirling around her head.
Wouldn't it be interesting to know what sort of thoughts could entertain someone so much on a boring desolate train? But we don't need to here! We have hints! There is that furrow of her eyebrows and the dark clouds hovering at the corner of her eyes so thick we could see them. The overhead lights didn't dance on her irises, no. They were as if the glossy cover was replaced with a matte finish.
How sad.
There was a loud ruckus behind Ines, but she, being too lost in thought, failed to turn around. This is no problem, for we can switch the view over to the new, more interesting area of the train.
The attendant with no name carried a small bag. It was a dangerously deceiving type of bag. It weighed so much the no-named attendant had to use all her muscles, even her back, to drag it up the steps. Nearly popping her shoulders out of their sockets and puffing exhaustedly as she dropped it on its final perch.
She wiped the sea of sweat, too much to stick, from her forehead. It soaked the back of her hand. She giggled and jumped around the lying brown leather bag. The passengers, two to be exact, waited in annoyance behind the jolly attendant.
The woman was old. Her hair had all turned grey as if shocked by horrors we could only dream of knowing. Her skin tried to melt off of her bones. They had had enough of dealing with such a curmudgeon their entire existence. She tapped her foot impatiently, still stuck on the steps as the attendant hauled the immovable black hole of a bag across the aisle to the two's assigned seats.
The man, on the other hand, was a kinder sort of fellow. Well, kind if you looked the right way. He was too easily swayed by the happenings around him and hid scared behind his wife most of the time. His hair and skin, having grown annoyed with trying to convince him to take his life into his own hands, were similarly trying to escape, but failing more than the woman's. Only old, loyal clothes could stand covering him.
People call it kindness, but was it really? It was more compliance. If action was necessary, he was not one for the job. He would let the terrible things run their course. Just watching the world go by.
I don't think this is kindness at all.
But here they were, the old couple, one passive, the other passionate. Boarding the near-empty train illuminated solely by small strips of orange light stretching the length of the ceiling. It did nothing to banish the darkness; it stuck to the corners and clung to the seats.
The bag plummeted on the shelf above their seats causing tremors to run through the car. The attendant smiled brightly at the annoyed woman and terrified man. She motioned toward the spot as if presenting an expensive work of art to a gallery full of spectators. The woman grunted without a word and gestured to her husband to take the seat, forcing him to make a move. She settled on the one next to the aisle. They were placed only a couple of rows behind Ines but on the other side of the train.
The attendant gallivanted to the front of the car wiping the last drops of sweat from her forehead.
"Alrighty everyone!" She announced. All eyes aimed at her.
I'll let you seep into Ines's brain. The way her eyes shift from nothing but matte blankness to reflecting impossible amounts of light in this dim car sounds interesting enough to go through the trouble. I will only pry as much as needed, privacy is important, you know? Thoughts are the most person a person can be. Take it as an honor we can see even a little inside someone else's mind.
Here we go!
Ines pried her eyes from the darkness that sucked her in. There was a small smile tugging at the edges of her lips at the almost childlike words, but the attendant's voice clearly came from an adult. It had that finality to it of a finished person. Yet she couldn't have been older than twenty.
Maybe twenty is when people finish.
Ines watched her eyes, not listening to the words. Probably something about safety that Ines didn't care to know. The attendant was doing just that robotically. A doll with strings; mechanical actions painted in personality.
Ines couldn't quite mold the thought into words. There was just something about her eyes that was… well weird to say the least.
People are often mesmerized by what they don't understand.
"We will be having lunch soon so stay tuned for that!" The attendant scratched behind her head. Not knowing how to end the script. Maybe she just wasn't one for words on her own without the guidance of rules. Her actions were precise like she had done this a million times, but these words were as precarious as a still lake. A piece of sand could tear through the tension and leave rippling waves to destroy everything else.
"If anyone needs anything please let me know! I am at you're, uh, what is it called? Right! Service!"
She bowed dramatically. One hand stretched out to the side the other crossing her middle.
The eyes scattered. She was no longer important.