Page 7 - FICTION
P. 7
FICTION
A Train’s
Journey
By Boris Glikman
I live in a train. I have food, warmth, a place to might run parallel to theirs for a short distance but
sleep. I feel certain that I am its sole occupant, for if then the tracks diverge and I never see them again.
there were anyone else on it I would know by now, There may be time enough to wave or shout out a
as I have lived in this train my entire life. few quick words but the words get mangled by the
noise of wheels on the tracks.
Where it is heading to, I cannot tell. On occasions,
it stops entirely or even begins to move backwards, Once, and oh, how the memory of that event heart-
but I can never get off for all the exits are hermeti- ens me still, my train travelled close to another
cally sealed. with a young woman occupant for a considerable
period of time, maybe as long as two minutes. I
In earlier times, I cherished the hope that the train put my palms upon the window and spread my
contains something that would help me escape it, fngers and the girl did the same in her carriage.
this unwieldy metal hulk, and separate my exis- Our hands were perfectly aligned, and despite the
tence from its course. I searched exhaustively for a glass between us, I was sure that I could feel her
button that would throw open all the doors simulta- body warmth.
neously or a lever that will allow me to prise open
a window. Yet I dared not to go through every car- I can not jettison my dream that I will see her again,
riage and compartment, partly out of fear that I that our trains will run side by side forever and we
would fnd nothing of use and that thereby all of my will never be apart. In every train that I see, I con-
hopes would be terminally dashed. tinue to search out for her sublime features, yet at
the same time I am wracked by doubts as to how I
I can only perceive the outside world as it appears appeared to her, whether the windows of her train
through the windows of the train. I know not how distorted her vision of me.
veracious my perceptions are, for it may well be
that the windows are made of distorting glass. I Does my train have a driver? Is there any purpose
often wonder what it would be like to experience to its voyage? Is it moving of its own volition and
life directly. choosing its own way through the land or has its
journey been pre-planned by some unknown hand?
Occasionally, I see other trains go nearby and Is there a Master Scheduler who has organised the
catch a glimpse of their solitary dwellers. My train timetables and the routes of every train? Shall I
Independent Media Inspiring Minds 7
A Train’s
Journey
By Boris Glikman
I live in a train. I have food, warmth, a place to might run parallel to theirs for a short distance but
sleep. I feel certain that I am its sole occupant, for if then the tracks diverge and I never see them again.
there were anyone else on it I would know by now, There may be time enough to wave or shout out a
as I have lived in this train my entire life. few quick words but the words get mangled by the
noise of wheels on the tracks.
Where it is heading to, I cannot tell. On occasions,
it stops entirely or even begins to move backwards, Once, and oh, how the memory of that event heart-
but I can never get off for all the exits are hermeti- ens me still, my train travelled close to another
cally sealed. with a young woman occupant for a considerable
period of time, maybe as long as two minutes. I
In earlier times, I cherished the hope that the train put my palms upon the window and spread my
contains something that would help me escape it, fngers and the girl did the same in her carriage.
this unwieldy metal hulk, and separate my exis- Our hands were perfectly aligned, and despite the
tence from its course. I searched exhaustively for a glass between us, I was sure that I could feel her
button that would throw open all the doors simulta- body warmth.
neously or a lever that will allow me to prise open
a window. Yet I dared not to go through every car- I can not jettison my dream that I will see her again,
riage and compartment, partly out of fear that I that our trains will run side by side forever and we
would fnd nothing of use and that thereby all of my will never be apart. In every train that I see, I con-
hopes would be terminally dashed. tinue to search out for her sublime features, yet at
the same time I am wracked by doubts as to how I
I can only perceive the outside world as it appears appeared to her, whether the windows of her train
through the windows of the train. I know not how distorted her vision of me.
veracious my perceptions are, for it may well be
that the windows are made of distorting glass. I Does my train have a driver? Is there any purpose
often wonder what it would be like to experience to its voyage? Is it moving of its own volition and
life directly. choosing its own way through the land or has its
journey been pre-planned by some unknown hand?
Occasionally, I see other trains go nearby and Is there a Master Scheduler who has organised the
catch a glimpse of their solitary dwellers. My train timetables and the routes of every train? Shall I
Independent Media Inspiring Minds 7
