Jerry Liang
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The Conductor
I awoke to the rhythmic jolting of a train. Perhaps awaking is not the right verb. To be awake, one need to have slept but no one slept on this train. Proverbially, I came to myself in the middle of this foreign but familiar coach. All I could see was rows upon rows of seats and of course their associated souls. The coach is full but silent, not too different from a church awaiting the beginning of a sermon. In fact, if it weren’t for the long line of windows on either side showing the same grey and bland landscape speeding by, I would well have said I awoke to the ceremonial monotony of a church. But of course, that would imply a number of sins which I would do well to avoid given my current circumstances.
By Jerry Liang3 years ago in Fiction
