My first post!!: This is part of a dream i had…there will be more to follow.
From the blackness of sleep, sounds seep in. People are talking in low, hushed tones. The conversations around me are muted, not even loud enough to hear individual words. The rasping of their voices is covered by the sound of a train, clacking loudly. My eyes are still closed, and I simply listen and feel. I feel the continuous shaking of the train-car, hear the rattling of seats and suitcases with every jolt of the tracks.
I open my eyes. Across from me is the black leather of a train seat, no one occupying it. I glance around the car. Only one person sits to my right. Man or woman, I cannot tell, for they wear a black cloak which covers all features, and the hood is pulled up over the face so that a shadow enshrouds it. Down the train I can see more black, leather seats, more black cloaked people who are the copies of the one next to me. The train is not full: in my car only a dozen cloaked figures fill the chairs around me. The whispering goes on, but I cannot tell where it is coming from. It seems to seep in from the outside of the train. The cloaked figures, including the one to the right of me, sit with rigid backs, their heads facing forward, they are not the ones talking. I do not know if they are even human, or alive.
My head rests on the window of the train. I look to the window, to see if something may explain the whispering, but it is pitch black outside. The blackness draws me in, and it takes a great effort for me to rip my eyes away. As I stare out into the nothingness, my stomach begins to feel queasy, and the darkness tells me to throw something of value out the window of the train. I take one last second to gaze into the dark, then turn my gaze inward, down at my shaking hands. I’m feeling fine again, and the whispering goes on, if a little louder than before.
I’ve got to get some air. Slowly, I straighten my back. My cheek peels from the window pane, and I know there is a red mark there. No one is looking at me, but they might as well be, for I am the only one moving in the train. I’ve got to get some air. I shuffle my feet together, ready to stand up, and glance around once more, but none of the cloaked figures make any sort of movement.
The whispering stops. I walk into the aisle, wondering if I will be able to see any faces now. I don’t. The spaces under the hoods are dark, not as dark as outside, but enough so that no features show. As I make my way down the aisle between the seats, the cloaked figures do nothing. A deadly silence has filled the car. I cannot hear even the clacking of the train, and I feel a desperate need to get outside. The air feels as if it is pushing in on me, I don’t belong in the train car anymore.
As I pass the last cloaked figure closest to the door, his arm suddenly makes a grab for mine. Trembling and cold, his fingers wrap around my wrist, and I stop to look at him. His head is turned to me, and I can see a sort of dark face, or is that just what I think I am seeing? Whatever he is, I can tell he is scared, terrified, and so are all the others.
Something must be done.
The fingers give my wrist a small squeeze, and his arm falls back into place. His head turns to face forward once more, the clicking of the train resumes, and all is as it was when I awoke. Except for the whispering, which is still absent.
The silver door to outside shines with a bright outline in my eyes. It is as if it is calling out to me, and I grasp the cold, metal handle. Thankfully, the end of the train is just outside of this door. We are the last car of how long of a train, I do not know. The door slides soundlessly open, and immediately cold wind lashes my face. I step out onto the small balcony, not looking back. My hair whips into my face, but I ignore it.
The silver door slides shut behind me, and the light from the inside of the train diminishes to a small square from the window in the door. It doesn’t do much to help light up the little balcony.
I can feel the cold wind lash at me, and I know that outside the bubble of the train, it is much, much colder than this. I look around, grasping the bars on the balcony for stability. In front of me the miles of track we have already traveled slip away. I dare not look into the pitch black on my left. It is the pitch black I could not look away from when inside the train. It makes me sick. To my right is also dark, but the dark of a winter night with no moon. I can just make out dead, grass fields covered in frost. The fields extend for miles and miles off into the cold night.
Suddenly, I know about the train. Not the specifics, but enough to scare me. I know that, to my left, where the sickening darkness lurks, is a bad place, evil. Behind the bullet of a train is misery, in front lies sanctuary. The black train and its sad passengers need to make it to sanctuary before dawn if we are to be safe. The alternative is to fall into the nothingness, the evil.
Knowing this, I begin to turn back inside to join the ranks of the scared and miserable. Again information enters my mind, and I know there is a black cloak waiting for me inside the train. A black cloak that will take away all feeling while we are rushed to safety.
But then, a flash like a memory hits my mind. I am seeing from the perspective of a man who is walking out in the grass fields. His many layers of clothing are dark, and some of them are ripped and shredded, some parts tied on with bits of string. He walks as if he has passed the point at which he can stop. He has been walking for a long, long time, many weeks. He has a goal, a person to save, a person not on the train. He is tracking something through the tall, dead and frozen grass.
The flash into his mind disappears. I want to know more. Who is he? But nothing comes, only a sense of duty. I must find him, help him. He needs me, and I need him. I cannot simply sit on the train while he completes his mission on his own.
And just as I have these last few thoughts, I am down, off the train, standing in the fields. It takes me a moment to adjust to the change. My mind adapts first, already taking in my dull surroundings. My body reacts second, and I lose all of what was in my stomach. When I am finished, I realize something else. I am now dressed in warm furs. It is deathly cold outside, but the furs keep me as warm as I could wish. I stretch my gloved fingers down, and pull my fur cap further forward onto my cold forehead.
In front of me the grass is bent down where the man has walked. I take a breath and follow his tracks through the field.