Rantings, Writings, Poetry, Etc...

Sonata in Train

As he waited on the platform, the train he didn't want sang to him in a key of D. First the brakes loosened in a high brassy tone. Then the wheels joined in, starting with a low and quavering "O", then soaring upwards, like a coloratura long out of practice. But all of it in D, D, D. Not higher, not lower, but a pitch perfect D. The train paused again, and the song ceased, replaced once more by the roar of the engine and the drone of lights, and the tired sighs of the wind.

He looked around. There was no one else on the platform. He thought, madly, "It's singing just for me." His mind concocted reasons, that it was meant to lure him, that it was lonely, feeling empty, singing siren songs in D, saying "Come in, and see where I might take you."

And part of him heard the song and was tempted. He imagined himself, standing up, laying down his burdens, stepping aboard the train, never looking back. No one would know his name, no one would know his face, his habits, his tastes, what he knew, what he didn't know. He imagined himself, the blank slate he had not been since being born, ready and capable of being who and whatever he wanted to be.

But then his mind, for better or worse, didn't stop imagining. He imagined failure. He imagined finding himself in a city where he knew no one. He imagined no one knowing his name, his face, his habits, his tastes, what he knew, what he didn't...and he imagined that maybe no one would care. He imagined himself with no work, no food, no home, and, ties cut from the world he left behind, no place to go back to.

The train shifted once more, and the D rang out again, sharply and yet softly. But the siren song made his stomach churn now with dread possibilities of being led onto sharp rocks and oblivion. And so he stopped his ears, and waited once more, oblivious.