The clock seemed to tick unnaturally loud, although no clock could be seen, perhaps it was his own heartbeat although it seemed too regular and monotonous.

 The scenery beyond the window rushed by without changing a dead tree breaking up the barren landscape the sun hanging perpetually on the horizon on the moment switching day for night, or night for day, for he could not remember when he had arrived here.

 The passengers stared ahead in silence, their vacant expressions suggesting they too were unaware of the trains destination. Or perhaps just not caring as he too felt any concerns for his own welfare vanishing as if the trains air somehow cleansed his soul.

 A woman whose once delicately lined face now seems so brittle that a slightly wind would scatter its fragments, a young man dressed in chains and leather that were now as battered and broken as his unhappy face as weather beaten as those who had spent their lives tending crops and cattle in mountainous lands, a school girl who seemed so pale she was almost transparent, each somehow drifting away from him as he watched although none had moved an inch.

 He sat a while, the will to move somehow not making itself known to him, somewhere deep within him a voice called out, somehow familiar, repeating a message, he must leave, somehow he must leave! The voice so faint it sparked a moment of recognition before the strange emptiness threatened to again envelop it.

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I like to write stories that can be taken a million different ways, they just take a bit of imagination. For this reason I don't give any guidance.

updated Sep 26, 2008 by slightlyodd