Why does the 11:47 express make unscheduled stops at stations that don't appear on any railway maps, and what's behind those passenger cars that remain curtained despite being listed as available seating? Which conductors punch tickets with symbols that railroad authorities claim aren't part of their coding system, and why do some travelers board with luggage that porters refuse to handle? What cargo travels in that sealed freight car that's been coupled to the same train for months without being unloaded?
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It ought to be plain how little you gain by getting excited and vexed. You’ll always be late for the previous train, and always on time for the next.
― Piet Hein
Constance Merkle pressed her face against the cool window glass, watching the endless procession of telephone poles blur past in the twilight. The train had been her sanctuary for three days now, carrying her away from the collapsed remnants of her old life toward something---anything---that resembled hope.
The conductor’s announcement crackled through the overhead speaker: “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re experiencing a brief delay due to signal complications ahead. We should be moving again shortly.” But Constance noticed how his voice trembled on the word ‘complications,’ and how he avoided eye contact when he walked through their car moments later.
As minutes stretched into hours, fellow passengers began to murmur. The elderly man across the aisle mentioned seeing lights moving parallel to the tracks---not the steady glow of distant towns, but something that pulsed and weaved between the trees. A young mother clutched her sleeping infant closer when the train’s wheels began to emit a rhythmic clicking that sounded disturbingly organic, like massive joints popping in sequence.
Constance felt the train shudder, not with mechanical vibration, but with something that seemed almost… eager. Through her reflection in the darkened window, she glimpsed movement in the landscape beyond---vast shapes that shouldn’t exist, flowing like liquid shadow between dimensions she couldn’t quite comprehend. The realization crept over her slowly: they weren’t delayed by signal problems.
They were being held.
The train had become a chrysalis, and whatever was happening in the darkness outside was preparing them all for a metamorphosis none of them had asked for. Constance closed her eyes and felt the steady pulse beneath the floorboards, understanding now that some journeys have destinations that don’t appear on any map.
