The Station

The Station
By Michael Thomas-Knight

I assumed ghosts and spirits had taken over the station. Humanly figures moved about with a dream-like quality. Last night, sleep had consumed me and I missed the last train to Albany. When I awoke, the morning sun blazed brightly through the windows of Buffalo Central Terminal.

My co-workers had left me behind, not notifying me of the departing train. We all attended the seminar on ‘insurance algorithms’ together. We had been discussing it last night, although much of it’s content was beyond me. You’d think they would have awakened me and said, Jimmy, the train is here.

Upon closer inspection of the people in the terminal, I realized they were not ghosts. They were quite alive but moved unnaturally. I walked up to the woman with the purple knit beret and fur-collar wool coat as she paged through a magazine. She wore leather Bebe ankle-high boots which were very popular these days. I waved my hand in front of her face. She could not see me. Her chest rose and fell with calm breaths. I leaned in closer to feel the warm air from her nostrils and smell the fragrance of lavender upon her neck. When she moved she became a blur. She took no notice of me at all. I looked around. The terminal buzzed with commuters running for trains and waiting for departures with I-phone earbuds in their ears and laptops in tow. The faster they moved the more blurred they became.

I knew I was not dead. I had sustained no injuries; I had no run-in with thugs the previous night. Somehow I had fallen out of time. I could not keep up with the advances at work. I could not keep up with the hustle and bustle of this modern world any longer. I had slipped out of sync… with everything.