Unscheduled

Whether it’s the rocking of the carriages, or the clickety clack of the wheels, trains lull me to sleep. Guaranteed.

Drooling like an idiot, I peel my squished face off the fogged window.

The black clad man sitting opposite creeps me out. The carriages are sparsely populated. Why is he sitting knee to knee?

“You missed your stop.” A grave-quiet voice. “You must disembark. Your name is not listed.”

I gather my belongings and sway shuffle to the door, keen to put space between us.

The crash dominates the evening news. White-faced announcers. Twisted carriages, hellish flames. No survivors.