Different Things

The train car exterior was too exquisite to be anymore than a crime. A lanky man with a long nose sat across from his still companion. His odd dress did well to cancel out the vivid blur of surroundings in the train window behind him. He looked at his beer and smiled, "The best things in life are very easy and very hard."

Up ahead the tracks ended out into a sunburst sky, long after the sun had lost its round shape to the push and pull of modern technology; a race of broken children, futurist ancestors of winter and its fevers.

"Different things mean different things." He took an endless sip, like his stomach didn't exist. After a few short minutes, he pulled a tarp from under his seat and covered the listener of his dialogue-- careful not to wake his friend before the crash.

It wasn't long before a near-frail, black haired stewardess came out with sleepless eyes, "I was called here because of a concern.."

"I'll have no part in it." The man replied, throwing his near-empty can into the cold spitting air.

Tears welled up in the stewardess's eyes and she backed away, one step at first, then all of them. She shut the curtain, and all sunlight faded. With tears streaming down her face, she made her retreat down a narrow, abandoned hall with a comforting complacency to it, the feeling of being wrapped up in oblivion.

Ahead outside, an old, eccentric man and two employees under him worked tirelessly building a railway bridge. He could see the train coming in the distance and knew he would not have enough time to finish. He hammered a bolt into one of the tracks and talked to one of his employees, "If I strike you as the kind of guy who acts insane for the fun of it, you've got me half-pinned down. There ain't no easy way to transform fear."

The stewardess ran out across the walkway to train cars which only had floors, rickety platforms subjugated to a rumbling rush, venturing towards an invisible leader. The barren train tracks traveled into falling shards of yellow sunlight smothered by a hand of pink-streaks grasping at a dark blue sky. The car floors gradually became paint-chipped, unmarked, and bloodstained. The cargo behind disappeared into a self-creating fog as each step took in the night of the fall.

The exterior of some train segment found itself dilapidated as well. A near-skeletal dead man sat on a rotted bench across from a tarp covering the shape of a body. The head under the tarp began moving, just slightly, the window to the left, left starless and vertical. A stranger's shadow crept in front of the curtain which enclosed the room.

The deep voice of the shadow passed its tone over a whisper, "You've heard the stories about things hidden in the light and shadows of other worlds. Well there is a potent mysticism to be extracted in this very moment, where those stories align with consciousness into symbiosis. That is what we've come to do here.. to make the world back into a drug."

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