Tuesday, 26 February 2013

Episode 3: Tattletale


The blank look in her eyes bore into me as her stare transferred to me from the fire. She cocked her head, then glanced down at the menu. My gaze followed her own, and I picked up the booklet, holding it between us to avoid her big, piercing grey eyes. I looked inside.
It was blank. There was embroidery around the edges, and a series of prices along the right side, the numbers of which I couldn't quite make out, but there was no food being offered. I realized this with a calm acceptance, and put the menu back on the table. Within seconds a waiter returned to remove it from my side. I realized I wasn't hungry anyway. I folded my legs beneath the table and clasped my hands in my lap, no longer able to avoid her gaze.
“You're new here,” she said. It wasn't a question, but a state of fact. I nodded minutely. Her own head bobbed as well, and she leaned over the table. Those grey eyes seemed to suck me into them, holding my own, pulling me towards her. Now I was leaning on the table, too. She reached across it and wrapped her hands around mine. Her whisper seemed to come from every direction, filling all my senses like a burst levee: “It's not what you think... this place... it's—”
“Sarah, what did we talk about?” the attendant was at her side, in the midst of cramming the time piece into his pocket. The woman jumped, startled, then her eyes fell to her lap. He placed his hand on her shoulder when it was done fumbling with the watch, and she sighed as she pushed her chair back from the table. The attendant smiled at me with a mumbled “excuse us” and the two turned and walked off. I fingered the hem of the tablecloth as I watched them walk away. He was whispering loudly into her ear as she hung her head. His hand was still on his shoulder, gripping firmly. He turned and looked over his shoulder at me, his face changing quickly from a harsh, reproachful one to the smile he had given me before.
They disappeared through the door at the far end of the cart.

Friday, 22 February 2013

Episode 2: Dinner for Two


The next cars in the train were the same as my own: the carpet, the lighting, the frosted glass. This didn't surprise me; the fact that they were all so well kept, however, did. The carpet didn't appear trodden, the candles showed no evidence of having burned. This crossed my mind with faint interest, but not enough to investigate. I followed the attendant, his red cap bobbing along as he walked. He passed easily through the doors, not missing a step as he opened them before us. Obviously he was not new to this. He looked at his watch occasionally as we walked, scrunching up his face as he peered over the crook of his nose.
After some time we emerged into a larger car that must have been the dining cart. There were tables seating four with white table cloths and the same hallway candles, all uniform in length. They didn't seem to provide much light, either; indeed, they seemed to only add a glow to the fog of the room.
The patrons in the room sat across from one another chattering idly. No one had plates in front of them, though; perhaps dinner hadn't been served yet. The people were dressed in every way you could imagine from football uniforms to suits to nothing at all. This, too, registered some faint interest. As we walked, the buffet emerged from the darkness in the far corner of the room. A man stood behind it with an apron and chef's hat, but there was no food to choose from. He smiled from behind some gold-rimmed glasses, muttering and chuckling to himself quietly. We continued.
Finally my escort halted at a table. There was a woman there smiling absently, pleasantly, gazing at the candle. She had a long, grey evening gown on, and her hair suggested that she had just rolled out of bed. The attendant turned to me, extending a hand toward the chair across from her. I sat without question. He turned and walked off without a word.
The woman didn't say anything until a waiter approached the table and set a menu in front of me. I reached forward to open it, and she said, without taking her eyes off the dim glow of the flame, “Don't be silly.”

Wednesday, 20 February 2013

Episode 1: Awakening

I can still remember my first day on the train. Nothing before it, of course, but the day itself is clear as crystal.
I woke up in car #139 gazing at my feet. My socks were clean, my pants pressed, and my shirt starched. I awoke fully clothed without any recollection of how I got there. I would later find out the details of how I boarded, but at the time I had no idea. I should have felt confused--that much I knew--but I didn't.
I got up with ease, and felt the habit of stretching returning from somewhere far away, but I didn't do that either. I got up without a yawn or a stretch or a search for coffee. The train car was small, about eight feet by five, housing a small bed and a seat by the window. There was a thick, pressing fog outside, and I could see nothing except the tracks that disappeared one after another beneath us. I assumed there would be bathrooms and food somewhere else on the train. The door of the room was a sliding one, with a brass handle and a frosted window so that I couldn't see outside of it, either. Lacking the apprehension that I thought I should be feeling, I reached for the door and turned the handle. It slid open without a sound.
The hallway was dimly lit by candles along the wall, trying in vain to combat the gloom of the outdoor world. Along its center ran a plush burgundy rug, thick and soft beneath my shoeless feet. The air was clear, if a little stale. This was the train. This was car #139.
A man approached then, muttering to himself. He was tall, with high shoulders and a pronounced nose that canopied a thin mustache. His dark hair was covered by a small red cap, which matched the uniform he was sporting. He was checking a small golden time piece when he stopped suddenly, noticing me for the first time. He scrutinized the watch once more then glared at me, mumbling under his breath.
"You're early," he said simply, assuming that I would know what he was talking about. I gave him a blank look as he stuffed the watch into his pocket. "Well, welcome, I guess, even though you're really not, but welcome all the same."
I couldn't answer for a few seconds, unable to find my voice. I had to work my tongue, urge the sounds up from my throat, until I managed a meek, "Thanks."
He stared at me, reaching up and twisting his mustache, and said, "Right. You'd think I'd be used to this whole 'new guy' thing by now. All the same," and now he turned on his heel, talking to me over his shoulder, "come along now."