The Final Stop Helen Liu

The Final Stop

She sits alone in the train car, hands clasped in her lap. Late afternoon sunlight streams through the window, just bright enough to make her squint; endless fields of green roll by outside. She doesn’t know when she’d boarded this train, or where she’s going. Just that the car is impossibly clean, so unlike the subway she grew up riding; just that the complete absence of passengers unnerves her. There’s nobody jostling her shoulder, no buzzing crowds, no chime followed by that so-familiar mechanical voice, saying, “Our next stop is…” It had all been so exhausting. Eyes sliding half-shut, she lets her head fall back against her seat. She might not know where she is, but at least here, she has peace and quiet. As if on cue, the door linking her car to the next slides open. A youth dressed entirely in black steps in and sprawls in a seat opposite her, floppy hair shading his face so that all she can see is his razor grin. He’s maybe ten, twenty years younger than her, and to her, it seems he lounges with all the carelessness in the world.

“Hello,” she tries. Her voice is scratchy, so she clears her throat and starts over. “Hello. Do you know where we’re going?” “Where do you think we’re going?” he says lazily, not moving from his slumped position. She forces a smile. “I’m sorry, I really don’t know.” He shrugs and points towards the horizon, where the sun is beginning to set. “Here, there, everywhere. It doesn’t matter where we’re going; it’s the final stop, anyways.” Then he leans forward, elbows on his knees, and suddenly his eyes, impossibly black, are flashing. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

She thinks, but all she comes up with is gray. She clears her throat again, wincing at the twinge of tight pain. “I don’t know.” He sighs, leans back again. “Let me know when you do.” They sit in silence, him motionless, her fidgeting. The sun gets lower and lower, the sky is lit in brilliant orange. Long, reaching shadows are cast all over the car, throwing everything she sees into sharp contrast. She stares hard at the sunset, watching light give way to the dark. The fields outside become vague masses; the youth’s figure practically melts into his shadow. And as she blinks her eyes to adjust to the dimness, an image comes into her mind. “Ah,” she says softly, hands coming up to touch her throat. The skin there is rough and scraped, raw and bleeding slightly. If she closes her eyes, she can almost feel the rope tightening. The youth sits up, and she really can’t see his face clearly, but she thinks he looks a bit sad. “I think the train’s stopping soon,” he offers. Is it? She feels like she’s floating. She doesn’t think she’d be able to tell whether the train was moving or stationary. Outside, everything is just a mass of black; even the stars seem to be fading away. She finds she doesn’t really mind. The youth stands and walks over to her, extending a ghostly white hand. Her eyes focus on it, the one thing she can see clearly amidst all the shadow. As if in a trance, she takes his hand, letting him help her to her feet and guide her to the car door. “Are you ready?” Slowly, she nods. The doors slide open and he steps off the train, taking her with him. Together, they are swallowed by the darkness.