2 minute read
Ella Williams, 10, "On The Mourning Train"
I sat there, legs crossed, a book on my lap and my bags overhead. The weekly journey back to school should have become normal by now, but I found each time as tedious as the last. The chug and chuff of the train had become a constant rhythm as I stared out the window, watching the world go by. Snow fell outside, covering the world in a white blanket, creating an unsettling silence. The train screeched to a halt, interrupting the perfect rhythm to which I had become accustomed, and compartment doors opened and closed. Footsteps were heard on the platform outside, the quick impatient stomps of people with somewhere to be.
Three more stations to go.
The snowfall had turned into a blizzard, beating on the windows, trying to force itself into the carriage. I wrapped my coat tightly around myself and picked up my book as the wind howled through an open window some distance down the train. The chug and chuff of the train slowed as we approached. Doors opened and closed as the ritual loading and unloading of passengers began once again. Two more stations to go.
A man hobbled into my compartment, his hat pulled down over his face. He was wearing a long black jacket which was covered in specks of snow and he held a leather briefcase in his left hand as he gripped a walking stick in his right. He walked with the manner of a man who was accustomed to the many glances he received. He sat down across from me and made himself comfortable. Placing his briefcase and coat on the rack above; removing his hat to reveal a bony face, covered in paper white skin. He caught my glance and turned his head towards me, staring with beady eyes that popped out of his skull-like face. I returned quickly to my book to escape his glare. The train chugged on.
After some time had passed, I looked out the window, surprised to see that the snow had stopped to reveal jagged cliffs. But, this is not the landscape of my usual journey, I thought. My heart quickened, taking a long breath to become composed, convincing myself that this was merely a different route. Eventually, I summoned the courage to ask the old man where we were going.
“Excuse me sir, do you know where this train is heading?” I inquired. He slowly looked at me and replied, “nowhere”.
“Nowhere? What do you mean by nowhere?” my heart started to pound at his answer. His cold and suddenly sad eyes stared into mine, he sighed. “Nowhere. This train never stops, there are no more stations. You ride until your time is over.” He scratched his nose, unsettling his papery skin.“I have sat here for many years, so many I have lost count. Merely another soul the train has claimed.”, he paused regretfully, “Eventually you become a part of the train; discard your ticket, this is our final destination.”
