The Train Ride
She boarded the train, happily tucking her ticket into her jean pocket. She looked left and right for a seat. The conductor, a handsome, wily looking young man, nodded to her and smiled, indicating for her to follow. She hid her smile and blushed, eyes casted down. They walked through rows and rows of seats when finally he stopped at a spacious section that had a large window framing the world passing by. She sat and stared out the window. “Safe journey,” the wily conductor said, and left her basking in warm assurance.
And then she heard a loud noise.
Everything at that moment seemed like a vortex centered into her very being, paroxysm pulsing dully against her ribcage, sucking in negative energy right through the cracks that were about to mend, a direct streak into the heart, because she knew. She suddenly knew.
“He lied,” she thought sadly.
She crouched to the side of the seat, head tucked into her knees, closed her eyes slowly, and braced herself for the crash to come.