The Glitter Jungle:
Fiction:
Train Ride
I'm on a train back to Durham, on my way back home. I'm wrapped in my coat, purple fluff protecting me from freezing. The snow and frost outside are so very pretty. The cold keeps me melodramatically awake, eyes wide open, but my god the scenery is beautiful. Going through a tunnel and coming out to more bright, white snow. Frost gathers in lace-like patterns on the window, and I breathe on it, wanting to draw in the condensation. It doesn't show, though, probably due to the heating system. The sunrise is gorgeous on the snow, the light just dim enough to not hurt your eyes but still enough so the whole world glows white. The weather is crisp and the air is clear; wonderful weather but it's hell on the extremities. I can barely feel the tips of my fingers.
Light disappears again in a tunnel, nothing but the train's dim night-lights that glow on feet and shoes but not on faces, and then we're outside and the frosty morning sun shows its face again. The countryside is like a white mismatched patchwork where the fields divide. Sleepy blankets of cold that will take days to wake in the sun. Their beauty is breathtaking; I would take a picture if I could. It must be all the more beautiful being out there, walking in the snowy fields, without the dirty window in the way, obscuring the view. We pass by a small town and the stone buildings only lend to the quiet, pastoral country atmosphere.
I sprawl in my seat as we pass by the urban area and look around me, amused. Everyone on this train looks dead. It's so, so cold. The train is tilting, like a really slow roller-coaster. Even that doesn't wake the poor passengers who have to commute so early in the morning. Passive, slack faces. No one is snoring though, nothing to disturb the pastoral morning but the hum of the wheels and the wind whistling outside, almost unheard through the double-glazed windows.
The train slows down until it comes to a stop in the station, short
stocky red brick building. No one seems to be in a rush to get out. A few
minutes pass before the silence is shattered, hushed voices that grow louder
until one piercing scream is heard, and many steps, phones start to ring
in the station manager's office. People walk by my seat, up and down the
isle, yelling to each other from one passenger car to the next. Everyone
is dead, they say. Horror in their voices. I tell them it's just a cold
morning and people are lazy and don't burst out of the train in a second,
but take their time. I try to tell them. I'm so cold I can't move my lips.
Info:
Em was on a train one early morning. She was talking to me with IMs.