Runaway Mind

I’m trying to write a story. I have ideas to work with but for ages I have been spinning around in the world of genre specific storyline’s muttering to myself as I go. 

For starters I am someone who has just woken up, no idea where I am or how I got here. Well imagine if you please what that might be like, a groggy feeling of discombobulation, looking around trying to make sense of where I am. If I woke in my bed, In my home I wouldn’t think or feel anything other than waking up and getting on with my usual routine. But if I was taken unawares from my holiday hotel and drugged and left in my own bed in my home- well it would take me a few minutes to realise that although it’s familiar- it’s not where I am suppose to be. 

Since I realised this, I would be frantically trying to understand how I got here, from where I was without any knowledge. Who was behind it and what happened to me while I was unawares? 

So imagine the feelings of waking up somewhere I don’t recognise, looking around and wondering what I have forgotten. The memory of where I am should be there, it usually is/ the panic I’m now trying to quiet in my brain whilst I focus on remembering the memory that I know should be there. But it isn’t. I just woke up with no idea where I am or how I got here. 

We are an intelligent species, I can quiet down the panic long enough to look around and summise where I might be. Sit quietly and not move too much and observe my surroundings and work out what I can. 

Writers usually paint a picture for the reader, sounds, sights and smells to go with the thoughts in order to paint a scene in the readers mind. 

Well I woke up on a train, a fast paced moving train. How shall I imagine this train? 

I grew up riding with my family on big metal trains with blue and yellow seats and matching painted striped decor. The stale air interrupted only by the person across from me unaware of how strong and potent their perfume is or the other person with BO and urine stench so strong that I would rather hold my breath. Black faded graffitied words and letters strewn haphazardly about the carriage and fabric torn in the seats and frayed where people frequently pass. For some reason the expressions of youth do not end there, as someone has taken a sharp object and etched their names and the date into the windows of the train, which has resulted in the tint of the window becoming frills of peeled plastic. 

McDonald’s cups crushed and laying under the seat alongside an empty packet of cigarettes and a coke can. They don’t put bins on the train because it’s against the rules to have food or drink while riding the train. Plus people like to set the bins on fire in train stations- so they removed the bins from the platforms too. 

Naturally no one follows the rules so the train becomes a large metal garbage bin overstuffed with smelly people and loud bright signage with rules and maps and train lines in different colours. 

They don’t play music or talk radio over the speaker, nothing to drown out the loud clobbering sound of the wheels turning against the train tracks and enormous sounds of wind and metal against metal. Over the speaker I can hear the trains destination along with all the stops on the way, of course in an accent that I can’t quite make out so I have to find the map and read the list of stops to work out how many more stops I have to go. Since the train has not stopped at all, I guess I won’t hear the words ‘stand clear-doors closing.’

The people we encounter, some sitting with ear phones in and their eyes closed or their heads in their phones. Some stand by the door with their legs far apart in order to keep their balance while watching the platforms and roads whizz by through the door windows. Kids almost always sit on the seats on their knees with their faces pressed against the windows exclaiming all the wonders they see. Somehow the experience always leads to them asking their parents far too many questions such as ‘Dad, Dad! why is the sky blue?’ ‘Mum! Mum! Mummmmmy, what was that thing we just saw?’ 

Waking up on a train like this, with the busy hustle and bustle of city and suburban life around me- with the extreme sensory overload of noises and smells and tight closed spaces, would be terrifying indeed and lead me to feel as though I am waking up in a horror movie. Add to that the fast speed of the train hurtling towards somewhere unknown and all the vacant stares of the people around me wondering why I am drooling in my sleep in a place where one should never drop their guard. 

Strangers aren’t inclined to be helpful to those who seem unhinged, they turn and walk away out of fear or indifference so I don’t really know how I would find out how I got this way. Making eye contact with people who are trying their hardest to not let you know they were staring at you is near impossible and asking them questions over the deafening noise of the train and my own panicked thoughts is a lost cause. 

I could pull the emergency brake in order to render the train at a stop however more information as to how I got here would be helpful before raising the alarm and causing an upheaval for all the people in this train trying so hard to ignore me. 

Do I know my name? Do I have ID? Well let’s start with pockets, pockets hold information, perhaps a ticket for the train showing where I boarded and where I am headed? No such luck since this story is being written to certain paremeters, one being that I have no ticket on me and therefore have no way of discerning more. 

Perhaps I am a secret agent and have been drugged and left here with no memory for an undercover case? I could look for clues, perhaps a secret door code or a briefcase with a lock and secret key. Although I think this is unlikely given the amount of people on this train all heading to their own destinations in their lives. 

I remember travelling on a country line train once, the exterior was more refined, the inside seats were purple and lined up as a bus would be. I remember you could flip the seats to make a 4 seater space. There was also toilets and bins and even a canteen that served food and drinks. Also less stops and much longer time to get to your destination. Usually a service person comes down the aisle to check on everyone’s tickets, well I guess I would be a stowaway? 

I guess my attire could be a stunning olden day dress that would make me a damsel in distress, kidnapped by the Mayor of the old western town, perhaps a rebel comanche outside straddling a ladder and attempting a rescue would make this story more interesting. That would also mean there is an epic love story and a man desperately trying to save his fated love. 

Perhaps I have bumped my head and had my luggage stolen, but that won’t explain my lack of a ticket or why the train seems in no way about to stop anywhere. 

My step mom read Harry Potter to me as a child, I always imagined the train to Hogwarts to be a classic look with mahogany wood and maroon lined seats inside sleeper carriages with windows that open slightly for air. How else would the chocolate frog have blown away in the wind?! The carpet would be checkered and dark in colour and a little lady would come along down the aisle with frizzy hair to sell treats to the passengers. 

Perhaps It was an apparition that got me here unawares! The idea of having magic right now would be a help, I could conjure myself an escape. With a click of my fingers one would hope I apparate back in bed at home, perhaps waking from a strange dream! 

Oh, the possibilities are endless when magic is involved, fairies, goblins, elves and trolls! Pixies too! The more we allow the further we go, demons and angels and monsters to boot. But then perhaps we have all met this next one, albeit unawares, perhaps from the corner of your eye once you saw what you thought was a ghost but decided was your imagination. Since we are on a train I guess mermaids and unicorns would be a bit of a stretch, perhaps an aardvark would be unlikely too. 

Perhaps there are others here just as confused as me, I guess I could discreetly explore and see what I can find. The carriages have doors separating them, a big gaping hole that would result in my crushing death if I don’t cross carefully while holding on. Although In a country train the carriages are all connected and no outside crossing required, however the doors separating compartments take a few seconds to open. 

Quite a daunting process none the less if one needs to run away from their captors. Gives new meaning to the words sprawled everywhere on the platforms -MIND THE GAP.

When the train goes through a tunnel the carriage gets darker, if the lights are inefficient it can get quite dark. As a kid I remember trains being dark in the tunnels, but nowadays there are bright fluorescent lights to keep the carriages lit, so you only notice the tunnels due to the lack of view. Of course bright efficient lights don’t always work, sometimes they blink repeatedly off and on with a slight technical humm that you can’t quite hear. There are many stories throughout the years that I have heard and seen of a murder on a train, the lights go out and when the sight is seen again there is a murder to solve before their eyes. I would be quite the suspect with no memory nor luggage or train ticket! 

Perhaps the phrase ‘seeing light at the end of the tunnel’ would be a way to view this- when we pass on to another life do we find the light via a train? That would explain the lack of ticket! Oh dear.

In that case the train would be empty of other people, I would be alone and the train vibe would be eery and maybe there would be fog? Perhaps the windows of the carriages would have flashes of my time as if my life was flashing before my very eyes? Perhaps I will be greeted by someone I once knew who could guide me to my destination rather than a scary dark and gloomy being of death. Perhaps I am a faded blip compared to the people I can see, like a ghost in the night? Perhaps the blaring screech of an alarm in the distance makes this idea far fetched? 

I don’t know where I am, I don’t know how I got here, the train is showing no signs of stopping and I have no ticket to tell me where I am headed. My imagination knows no boundaries and I could go on forever with possibilities, however I do feel as though I have some place important to be… somewhere I think I go everyday and yet it eludes me as I try to think of it. As the fog extends and I try to think of many more scary and exciting ways I might figure out my recent adventure- I wake suddenly to realise my alarm is going off loudly and it’s time for me to make my kids breakfast and get them off to school. 

By the time I climb out of bed and reach for my phone the dream of the runaway train disappears from my thoughts until it’s a distant foggy forgotten dream I will wonder about tonight when I finish my day.