The Last Train Ride

It was the last train home. The train screeched as it rounded the bend.

I tightened my grip around my purse, protecting the little cash I had left from the man in the hood and dark sunglasses staring at me. I promised myself that tonight would be different. No more cowering, no more hiding from my boss. I’d open a bottle of champagne by the fireplace, drink just enough to get buzzed then leave a message on my bosses machine demanding a meeting about a raise. Either I got paid more, or I quit.

As the doors opened, I stepped inside, and the man followed right behind me. My heart started pounding hard against my ribcage when he sat next to me and placed his hand on my leg.

“Can I help you?” I asked and looked around for help.

The compartment was nearly empty. Another man sat at the far end, his hat pulled low, and when I whispered loudly for help, he let out a snore.

I shouted for him to call the police, and he put a newspaper on his face and pretended he couldn’t hear me

The man sitting next to me started breathing heavily, fogging up his glasses.

I tried to get up and move to the seat across from him, trying to ignore the unease I felt, but he motioned for me to sit.

I was feeling intimidated, so I did as he asked.

The only other passenger on the train was still ignoring me.

I glanced out the window, the world blurring past in streaks of darkness.

“Long day?” the man asked, his voice soft and soothing. It had oddly managed to put me at ease, despite his hand still on my leg.

“Something like that,” I replied, forcing a smile. I could feel his gaze on me, even as I looked away.

“Work related issues?” he asked.

“Yah, something like that,” I said, not really wanting to answer his questions, his hypnotic voice forcing answers out of my throat anyway.

As the minutes crawled by, I became more eager to get off, yet somehow this man had managed to keep me sitting down. I sighed.

“I’m going to call my boss tonight,” I stated.

“To ask for a raise?” He said. I smiled, somehow forgetting his hand was still on my leg. I wondered how he knew, but it was probably a lucky guess, and I was to tired to start a conversation.

“I’m Clara,” I said, then caught glimpses of my reflection in the window.

I looked tired. I had dark eyes and a crooked smile. I wondered what I must have looked like to this stranger. I must have looked haggard.

Maybe that’s why he thought he could get away with putting his hand in my lap. And why was I so comfortable with this strange man who I just met. I should be screaming.

“You look fine. And I hope you don’t mind my hand on your leg. Not a lot of room on these old trains. I’m Bob,” the man said and briefly chuckled.

“How did you know what I was thinking?” I asked.

“Before I tell you that , why don’t you tell me why you’re here?” Bob asked, leaning forward slightly.

I hesitated.

“I… I asked my boss for a raise. He forced himself on me. I wanted to scream and say no, but I wanted a raise more. I ended up not saying anything.”

”Then what?” Bob asked.

“The last thing I remember is my boss saying someone else already got the raise, and I would never amount to shit letting people walk all over me. This was after he had his way with me, the creep. He laughed at me, then zipped up his pants,” I said.

“Something else?” The man said softly, almost as if he knew the answer to the question before he even asked.

“Yah. I was so angry. I remember throwing a vase at him, missing, then storming out,” I said.

“Is that all?” Bob asked.

“Maybe,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Maybe I don’t want to think about the rest.”

Bob nodded slowly, as if weighing her words.

“Freedom can be a heavy burden. It’s not what it seems. Remembering can no longer cause you pain. Not here. You’ll never experience pain again,” Bob said and smiled

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Sometimes, what we think is freedom is just another cage. If you want freedom, tell me what happened next!” Bob said.

my heart started racing again. Was he mocking me? Or did he understand? The train jolted forward, speeding up. I was slowly remembering something incomprehensible.

“Look,” Bob said, his voice dropping to a baritone and loud whisper. “What if I told you that you’re not running away, but toward something? What if this train isn’t taking you home, but somewhere entirely different?”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

Bob leaned closer, the air charged with a strange energy. “You’re part of a story, Clara. A story that’s been written long before you stepped on this train. A story that was written for you, then given to you the day you were born. Do you remember how your story ended?”

”Yes. Yes my boss choked me to death. He slammed my head on the door, tossed me to the ground, wrapped his hands around my neck and told me I’d never get a raise. And thanks to the broken vase with my finger prints on it, he could claim self defense,” I said. A tear dripped down my eye. Despite Bobs promise I wouldn’t feel pain anymore, I did. Terrible, agonizing pain.

The lights flickered, and suddenly, the train slowed. My stomach dropped as we entered a tunnel, darkness engulfing us as the lights were off completely now.

Bobs face twisted in a grin, revealing something sinister beneath.

“Welcome to your final destination,” Bob said, his laughter echoing.

As the train lurched to a stop, the doors opened to a void, a swirling mist that beckoned me forward. I realized with dread that I wasn’t running away. I was running toward the end of my story, one I never truly began.

And in that moment, the truth hit me like a freight train. I was not just a passenger. This was the final chapter of my life, a narrative that had been scripted by the creators all along.

“If you’re wondering about them, you humans are nothing but amusement for them, our souls recyclable and are to be reused whenever the creators get bored,” Bob explained.

I cried harder.