Train Stations

    I watched as the chrome train passed by, it stopped in front of me although I did not leave the short yellow bench I was sat upon. For this was not my train. It never will be. It comes around all the time and we’ve been playing these games for weeks. I’ve been here for a long time at this point, my surroundings are covered in grime and dirt. Everything is an ugly shade of yellow cast from the dim lamps above. I don’t plan to ever go onto the train, it is far too crowded for me. When it arrives here you can see the bright yellow lights filled to the brim with people inside. They laugh and chatter and drink their wines in warmth. I sit out here, in the dingy short room, I have no need to enter a party like that. Far too loud. 

    The room is littered with posters peeling off walls, I never bother to read the ones far away. I know I am surrounded with out of date war propaganda, and ads for defunct companies that no longer exist. I bury my head in my hands, I want to weep, the urge is so strong. Unsure why but I let out a tearless dry sob. As if on instinct I stop and my head shoots up. I let out a groan, there's no one here, I can snivel and snot up my face as much as I want. 

    I let out a shaky sigh, as once again the train roars back into the station. It's always the same train. Never the one I want to get on, it's not my stop. It won't ever be my stop. The trains yellowed windows pass by me, tempting me to join the parties, the drinking, the crowds. Part of me longs to join, to get lost in the crowd. Most of me resents them, they sit in fancy lounge cars, while this place sits and decays to time. I let out another sigh, not as shaky as last time. I watched as the silver and red striped train leave. 

    Dust settles around me surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, it doesn’t make me sneeze. Most of this dirt doesn’t affect me. When I first arrived here I was lost, and frankly, I still am. 
I know I have to board the train, but I don’t want to find out what's on the other side. 
Part of me wants to know what happens if I leave this subway station, the stairs. 

    I softly sigh, I think I’m done sighing. 

    Shortly the train stops by once again, no one usually leaves the train, it stops and opens it darkened doors and then leaves after two minutes. This time is no different, but I stand up nonetheless. I follow as the train leaves, I have no intention of hopping on. I have decided that I should no longer wait, I’m feeling impatient.  I will wander this small station, see what other options are offered for me. 

    Wandering the direction the train leaves I see empty trash cans thrashed about, contents spilling out, papers flying everywhere. The lights here flicker a little bit, a sense of unease fills me. The air feels colder here. I peer down at my shoes, a sense of habit I am unsure of where it came from, the ground is filthy, yet no one comes to take care of this station. I am surprised the lights still work. Hollowed wind filters through my hair. Hope fills me, something about this train station feels unnatural; this wind, it brings me a sense of home, of safety. 

    Perhaps this is where I am meant to go?

    Sometimes when the train takes longer than usual I think about what awaits me if I did hop on. Would I be welcomed into the lights, the noise, the crowd? Would I be able to enjoy the party? Would the looming threat of what's next engulfing me?  The thoughts stop once the bright train stops by again, and the same thing occurs when the train stirs the air once again.  <- cut bit from draft I wanted to include!

    Walking into the darkened corners of the station, I can see more crumpled papers and thrown about wrappers.