The Train Ride

I can barely keep my stomach in check as the train moves forward. My head is spinning with thoughts and memories from the past. What day is it? What about tomorrow? When was yesterday?

I need to calm down, push past the confusion. It makes me dizzy and drains my energy. I stare out the window as the fields blur by. My throat burns as nausea rises, and my mouth tastes sour. I feel weak, like all my courage has left me. Next to me, an old woman eats her lunch. I swallow hard and shut my eyes, but the memories only get worse.

A deep discomfort creeps in, like I don’t belong here. I glance over again, but the old woman is gone—replaced by a bag. I don’t recognize it, and I don’t care to. When I look back out the window, the fields have disappeared. A city takes their place, its buildings rusty and crumbling. Homeless people wander the streets, their hair tangled, their clothes torn. Some of them dance. Others sit still, lost in thought.

A pulse beats inside me, a restless urge to run—but where? There’s nowhere to go. I squeeze my eyes shut again. This train ride will end eventually.

"I’ve been on this train for hours."

I hear a voice beside me, but when I turn, no one is there. The train is empty. Words drift through the air like whispers, yet not a single soul is in sight. I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out.

"Where do you think you can go?" The voice is soft, barely more than a breath in my ear. "Run, run, run. You can only go so far."

I shift uncomfortably, struggling to steady myself, to find my voice again. Why won’t the words come? Where do they go when I try to speak?

"Your whole life is a lie, Jeremy. You run from place to place, searching for a new life to escape your past. But how long can you keep running, Jeremy?"

My heart pounds. I can’t place the voice. Is it in my head? In the walls? Does it come from the heavens—or from somewhere far worse?

"This train goes nowhere your sins can't follow. You cannot wash away the filth that stains your soul."

I stand up and step into the aisle. The train has changed. The old, worn-out seats are gone, replaced by sleek, modern ones. A digital screen above me flashes warnings and updates, its bright lights nearly blinding. Around me, the passengers have multiplied, their movements restless, chaotic. They laugh—somehow, it feels like they’re laughing at me. Glasses of wine and beer clink together in celebration.

As I move down the aisle, I pass couples lost in each other. They whisper, kiss, and hold one another close. Their faces blur, but something about them feels eerily familiar.

I continue down the aisle, and the sharp scent of cigarettes hits me like a punch to the nose. Tobacco lingers in the air, making my mouth water. Instinctively, I reach for a smoke, but my pack is empty. That doesn’t make sense—I haven’t smoked in years. So why do I have a pack at all?

A woman stands up in front of me. Her long brunette hair drapes over her shoulders, her slender figure accentuated by the way her clothes hug her body. As she turns, she gives me a weak smile. Her face is pale, almost ghostly, and a cigarette dangles from her lips. Wisps of smoke curl above her head as the tobacco burns away.

“Want a smoke? I’ve got plenty, Jeremy,” she says, her voice soft and sweet.

I don’t answer. I can’t. She presses one into my hand anyway—a Camel, with the little camel logo on the filter. I inhale its rich aroma and, for the first time in a long while, I smile.

She offers me a light, and I use the small flame to ignite the end of my cigarette. I try to inhale, but nothing happens. No smoke comes from the Camel. I look up and see the woman laughing. I close my eyes as her laughter fades, and a light breeze brushes against my skin.

When I open my eyes, I find myself standing in an empty courtyard. The cigarette is still in my hand, and the woman is still in front of me. We’re by a backdoor leading into a building that reminds me of my college.

“Why would you do that to her?” she asks.

I open my mouth to answer, but no words come out. A wave of shame washes over me—for something I did but can’t remember.

"If you truly love her, you would let her go. Let her be free from your lies," the woman says, her hair shifting with the breeze as she inhales from her cigarette. The tip glows, casting a faint light as her eyes glaze over.

A wave of dread crashes over me, thick and suffocating. The world around me feels like it’s twisting, warping into something dark and unfamiliar. The ground beneath me trembles, then vanishes. I plummet into a void, an endless abyss of blackness. I can’t see anything, but I can feel her eyes above me, watching—cold and distant—as I fall into nothingness.

I wake suddenly from a dream, my surroundings unfamiliar for a moment as my eyes adjust. But as I take in the room, recognition settles in—it’s my old bedroom. It feels right to be here. This is where I live.

A square room, an Ikea dark brown dresser tucked into one corner beside the closet door. Sunlight filters through heavy black curtains, casting soft, sleepy shadows. The warmth beneath my thick comforter is comforting, almost intoxicating. If only I could stay here forever. Yet, something urges me to get up. Someone. Or maybe something. A presence I can’t quite place, but its warmth lingers, inviting.

I have to get up. School awaits—just another day. With a reluctant sigh, I rise and awkwardly go through the motions, my world feeling distant, foggy. I pull on my jeans, then my shirt, and—

Suddenly, I’m at school.

A college in the heart of a major city, filled with thousands of students. I sit at a table, books and computers spread out before me, though I barely remember getting here.

There’s no one around me, yet the sounds of a bustling crowd fill the air. I sit alone in the middle of it all. My mind drifts to the woman I love—a memory that haunts me, a love that consumes me. I wish I could escape her, but her presence lingers, overwhelming me. I cover my face, feeling the weight of it all, as if I’m losing control.

Who could love someone so much that it becomes toxic?

I need a break from her. I need a break from this school. Every day, I feel myself slowly rotting away within these walls, and only God knows how it will all end. I glance around, and the walls seem to close in, suffocating me.

Then, I hear it—a voice.

It’s beautiful, harmonious, but there’s something hidden beneath it, something dark. A deceitful evil that twists my thoughts and weakens my will.

"Jimmy, why are you here alone and not with us?" The voice calls out, and I instantly recognize that feeling. It's a strange mix of euphoria and sorrow, like I’m on the edge of something beautiful yet dangerous. Every time I hear her voice, it fills me with a terrible joy—like the world is about to shine brighter, but my life is hanging by a thread.

My love for her feels fractured, torn between passion and despair. The two can’t exist without each other, and I’m caught in the collision. I only hope I can survive this moment without losing myself completely.

But when I turn around, expecting to see her—the woman I dread to spend a day with—I find no one but my friends. They stand there, distant and disappointed, their expressions unreadable.

I try to speak, to explain, but my mouth is gone. It’s as if I no longer have the ability to make a sound. And so, they speak for me, their words filling the silence I can’t break.

"Are you going to take her down by the lake again?" One of them asks plainly. Another speaks for me, her thick accent cutting through the air, clearer than ever:

"Of course he will. He’ll hold her and think about making love to her. Even when his true love waits in another city."

"Will he feel sorry, or does he feel nothing for the ones who love him?" The third friend asks. "No, he only loves himself and the legacy he wants to create. But he will leave it for no one."

I shut my eyes, trying to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to break through. I don’t want them to see me any differently.

I am the stoic lover of women. I am a god amongst men.

-But in truth, I am no one. Just a childish boy with foolish ambitions.

When I open my eyes, I find myself resting my head against a seat on the speeding train. The old curtains block out the sunlight coming through the window. As I lift my head and look around, everything seems normal. I remember where I’m going—back home. I let out a sigh of relief, glad that it was just a bad dream from another time.

I gather my thoughts, and a stewardess pushing a cart of food and drinks passes by. Her fragrance is flowery, but it has an old scent to it, an odd mix for someone so young. Her long hair falls over her shoulders as she stops to serve an older couple ahead of me.

I pull the curtains open to look out at the fields passing by. A few workers sit in the fields, working under the hot sun. It must feel like the day will never end for them. I know the feeling.

I think about my dreams, how terrible they made me feel. A pain I once lived with every day, one that consumed my whole life. My heart was split in two, torn between two loves that tore me apart. I rest my head again, watching the world move past me. Every second feels like a minute. I wonder where they are—my old friends and lovers. How do they see me now, after my actions have painted me in such a negative light? Do they despise me for the way I treated them?

The stewardess passes by, and I call out, asking her to stop. I’m thirsty, and a can of soda will do. She backtracks and gives me a quick smile. I ask for the drink, and as I pull out my wallet, an old photo slips from it and falls to the floor. I hand her five dollars, and she gives me back my change along with the can of soda.

As she walks away, I reach down to pick up the photo and realize who it is. My love from long ago—the truest one. The one I was supposed to marry and have a family with. The one I lost. Why do I still carry mementos of a woman who’s long gone? Is it because of my suffering? A reminder of my greatest failure?

I sit back and stare at the polaroid picture of her—her big smile, her long hair. She’s wearing a t-shirt from an amusement park we visited together once. Guilt presses down on my conscience, and I think about tearing the photo up, destroying the love I still carry for her. She’s no longer in my life, yet I still hold onto her image. It’s hard. I don’t want to do it, but I know one day, I’ll have to let go and destroy my love for her completely.

I grip one end of the photo, then the other. I prepare to tear it apart, but my love for her holds me back. Her eyes seem to pierce through me, cutting straight to my soul, to my resolve. It’s as if she’s pleading with me—begging me not to let go, not to give up on the love we once had. Even after everything I did. Even though she has rightfully moved on.

With my eyes shut, I rip the photo in one swift motion. When I open them again, I watch the torn pieces of what was once a precious memory fall to the floor. I lean back, exhaling deeply, and turn my gaze to the window. The past drifts further behind me, fading like the fields passing by.

For the first time in a long while, I smile. Genuinely.