Destination Dark

When a question is raised, an answer too often is wanting...


There was nothing particularly wrong with her surroundings. Everything seemed to be as it should be. She settled with that thought.


Du-dum, du-dum...Du-dum, du-dum...

The pane of the glass was foggy. The grey layer of travel decrepit.


Du-dum, du-dum...Du-dum, du-dum...


She sought the sheet of paper ascertaining it was white as snow and placed it on the small tray by the window. Her pencil she raised and hesitated a moment or two before drawing a few swift, thin lines. This action was repeated a few times until the contours grew thicker, stronger.


Du-dum, du-dum...Du-dum, du-dum...


Though the faint glare of light above her failed at times and flickered there was nothing wrong with the electric circuit either. The drawing formed a visage. The white sheet was only blotted by a few varying shades of graphite. Her compartment was small, she occupied it alone.


Du-dum, du-dum...Du-dum, du-dum...


The visage was aligned with the memory of imagination. The soft tints that shaped his face she coloured with hope; the powerful strokes with courage. Her eyes set their gaze upon the portrait and she smiled.

Du-dum, du-dum...Du-dum, du-dum...


It was black outside; no matter how many times her cold hands tried to clean the glass from those layers of fog and filth and time...no matter how hard she tried to peer outside, there was nothing to see. The dark outside passed her by with no need to reveal its changing forms. And the carriage rattled on.


Du-dum, du-dum...Du-dum, du-dum...

The other passenger cars were empty. The hours spent upon the hard bench too enduring to remember and the hours remaining; impossible to know. The tracks of steel and stone stretched interminably.
And the train travelled on. To destination dark.