The Last Train

The station was a clamor of movement-people rushing past, trains hissing and screeching, announcements crackling overhead. News boys shouting the headlines.

"Extra! Extra! The Great Depression-A Cycle of Time That Wont Let Go!"

Her feet ached, fine amethyst heels digging into her arches with each step. Tighter, she gripped her sleek lucite clutch, fingers stiff with tension, as noise and bustle pressed in on her. Silk clung to her with the dampness of sweat. The heavy scent of perfume mixed with the sharper, more metalic tang of the station. A thick fog of responsibility shrouded her chest, as she tried to remember the last time she had a chance to breathe.

The train door opened with a mechanical wheeze. Feeling the shift in atmosphere the moment she crossed the threshold. Outside, the bustle faded, replaced by a susurration of quiet luxury-the soft tap of heels on polished wood, muted murmurs of polite conversation. Soothing glow of brass fixtures catching the last rays of sunlight. The air inside was warm, heavy with the aroma of leather and wood polish. She sank into her seat, sumptuous cushions welcoming her like an embrace. The low, steady rhythm of the train's movement lulled her into a peaceful haze. The interior simmered in toned gold and emerald-an art deco dream, carefully designed with plush velvet seats and mahogany paneling.

A breath, she hadn't realized she'd been holding, escaped as her body sank deeper into the softness of the seat. Outside, the world became a distant memory, as if it had no claim on her here. She stretched her legs out, feeling the weight of her exhaustion slip away. The serenity of the moment surrounded her-richly textured curtains, oppulant accents, the ambiance-for the first time in ages she settled into the moment free of expectations.

Oh I could sit here forever.

The gentle hum of the train filled the space, a soft rhythm that could tranquilize the most restless soul into a state of quiet. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking in the sensation of being blanketed in something other than the weight of her responsibilities. The world outside-the blur of fields and trees-seemed like a dream, distant and unreachable. She didn't need to reach it, not here.

There was no rush here. No demands, no incessant ringing of phones, no ticking clock reminding her of deadlines, nothing to chase. The world stopped asking her to do something, to be something. The train had become her sanctuary. It's smooth motion like a hypnotic dance as it wound its way through fields and pastures, overtaken by diamonds sparkling brightly in deep navy linens, millions of miles away. Only obligation was to drift with the train deeper into those skies letting the world pass by without a single thought. The rhythm becoming a steady heartbeat in the background.

She could stay here forever. The thought came like a whisper but it carried the weight of an undeniable truth. There was no hurry, no need to move. Her mind wandered as the train glided forward. Gentle sway of the carriage, the sculptural details, soft leather, were a far cry from the rush of everyday life-an indulgence in a world she rarely inhabited. The train was so beautifully crafted, so still, as though time had slowed just for her. She could almost forget who she was, or rather who she had been.

As the minutes stretched into hours, a small shift, like the faintest ripple in still water, occurred. Time had lost it's sharp edges-blurred by the golden glow of the sconces, the clinking of glassware in the dining car, a delicate wisp of smoke curling from her cigarette, its slender form balanced gracefully in the long, elegant holder. At first she thought nothing of it. The journey stretched longer than she anticipated, but wasn't that the way of things? Travel had a way of bending time, turning hours into something fluid, forgettable. Eyes closed, she let the noise of reality fade letting the soft whir of the train take over.

Opening her eyes again, the train hadnt stopped. The country side outside her window was blurry, unfamiliar, but strangely similar. Fields-lush, green-and distant hills. A passing station sign misted into view, but it was gone before she could read it.

"How long have I been here?" She whispered to herself.

Glancing around the cabin, other passengers sat in perfect stillness, reading newspapers or gazing out their own windows. No one looked at her. The air was thick with quiet comfort-no distractions, no demands, just the steady purr of wheels on track. Head against the window, she stared out into the fading day. The fields were replaced by a stretch of urban landscape, its rows of brick buildings flickering by. It was so familiar, yet so strange. Something familiar in the way the street lamps cast their glow, in the way the storefronts leaned together as if sharing secrets. It tugged at her. Had they not passed this already? Shaking the thought away, she adjusted her gloves, and matching cloche hat, taking a long pull of her slim cigarette.

She blinked and found herself staring at the same station, the same porters moving with swift, practiced efficiency, the same rush of passengers and luggage.

Her heart skipped a beat. Hadn't she just passed this station? The same moment seemed to repeat itself, just as the trains engine let out a mournful whistle.

A glance at her watch-only a couple moments had passed since she boarded.

The same time, she realized. The time she thought she'd been escaping from. It hadnt changed and neither had her place in it.

The same street lamps. The same storefronts. The same careful arrangement of brick and glass and painted signs.

She stiffened, her fingers tightening around the armrest. No-surely not. It must only look the same. Small towns often did.

The sun dipped again, sneaking past her. On a journey that was only scheduled through the evening. Shadows stretched longer over the cabin. The train did not slow.

Another night.

Another afternoon.

And there it was again. The town. The street lamps. The familiar sprawl of cobble stone and sidewalk.

The blood in her veins turned cold.

Hand pressed to the glass, heart thumping a little too fast, she watched as the the train hurtled forward-unstoppable, inevitable. A conductor passed, she turned to him sharply.

"How long till we arrive?" She asked, trying to sound casual, though her voice was tight at the edges.

The man tipped his cap, smiled. "Not long miss. We'll be there before you know it."

But where was "there"?

Swallowing, the last couple minutes, hours, days obliviated with the distant horizon. Unable to remember her plans. "And where exactly are we going?"

The conductor only chuckled, as if she'd told a small joke. "Why the same place we've always gone."

And then he was gone.

Turning back to the window, pulse loud in her ears. The train station approached. Not a new stop. Not a different stop.

Brakes hissed as they pulled into the station. The platform was alive with movement-porters hauling luggage, travelers embracing loved ones, the endless shuffle of arrivals and departures.

For a moment, she felt a flicker of relief. She could get off. She could step onto solid ground, shake this strange fever from her bones.

Hurriedly reached for her handbag.

And then-

The whislte blew.

The train lurched forward again, and she felt in her bones-a momentary heave in her stomach, followed by a dull ache of resignation. Her breath caught in her throat. The station whizzing past the window, shrinking into the wrought-iron arches dissolving into memory. The scenery outside was faded, blending into something she couldn't quite grasp. Faces, signs, sounds- it all obscured, rushing together in an endless cycle of indistinct shapes and sounds.

Perching in her seat, she tried to adjust her position, trying to wake herself from this strange fog. The whislte blew once more, a reminder of her captivity. Leaning against the window, she stared out into the darkness, watching the stations pass by-over and over again.

Each time, the same station. The same platform. She could have sworn she'd stepped off once. Or was that a dream? Her fingers clenched into the plush fabric of her seat, her breath shallow as the rattling of the train vibrated through her body. She wasn't sure anymore if she was awake or asleep.

As the lights of the station distorted once again, she knew without question: she was leaving.

She would always leave.

Never truly arrive.

She was leaving again.

And with a cold certainty, she knew she would be back.

Her hand lay motionless on the glass, her reflection wavering with the movement of the vessel, merging with the darkness outside. The world beyond seemed to dissolve into the shadows, like fragments of a story she couldn't quite remember. In that void, she lingered, adrift in the unrelenting pull of leaving, as the places she passed melted into one another, offering no destination, only an endless cycle.