Sleeplessness overtook me as it always did. I wrestled with my twilit mind as it replayed the inner landscapes waiting patiently behind the mask of the day. Resigned, I drifted out of myself, captive to the mares of night.
No color, no sound. Everything happens in slow motion, like an old film running through the fading light of a disintegrating projector. Once again I descend the staircase down, down, down, looking for the elusive station, the place to redeem my ticket to the place I needed to go. The tracks remained still, empty, silent. No one left and no one came. On the bare platform my shoes echo like gunshots, reverberating to the pounding of my heart.
Breaking towards the opening on the other end of the platform, I begin to count my steps backwards.
Another weary night tangled into the sheets of dawn.
Sara at dVerse gives us a line from poet Edward Thomas to use in our 144 word prosery: No one left and no one came on the bare platform.