Bullet Train to Hell, A Ticket to Ride

The cloud cover over Sunset terminal had just begun to glow, the Sun still hung below the horizon. A winter chill permeated the air. Chase sat pondering the irony that his work made the very train he rode to work each morning a reality. The train will arrive soon, there will be no empty seats, and Chase will stand amongst the other automatons, elbow to elbow, hurtling at neck-break speeds to the unreality of their lives. Most are en route to a cubicle where they will nod and smile, and type their day away. Chase, however, is bound for the end of the line, where he is an esteemed bullet train service man.

Chase’s gaze meandered about the train terminal, itself as unfocused as his nocturnal mind. Oblivious to the prospective passengers around him, his eyes and head became heavy, and the stubble on his chin scratched at his parka. Chase lapsed into sleep only to suddenly wake to sounds of the approaching train.

His eyes snapped open, caught by the comely visage of a young woman. Even with her scarf veiled across her face, Chase found her to be a specter of beauty. Bright watery eyes set against ivory skin are all that appeared from under her hood. Canvas ballet shoes accompanied her, nestled in the comfort of her arm.

         It must be incredible to see her dance. If only I could know her…

Chase, desperate to meet a woman that would even speak with him, invoked his tried and true train-terminal-joust-and-parry. In one brisk move, he had taken position just three feet behind her. From this stance, he could quickly move to block anyone that sought to get between him and his spot on the train next to her.

         I can feel her presence from here, her warmth. She knows her creative self; she could love me! What will I say to her? “Hi, I’m Chase Armstrong: bullet train mechanic.”

The train drew near now, and the young woman took a step toward the rails in hopes of securing a seat. Chase realized she wore small earphones; wires trailed from beneath her hood down to a jacket pocket that must have concealed an Ipod or a Disc Man. She could not hear the frightening sound that caught Chase’s ears by surprise.

         Oh my God! It must be the brakes, the train is moving too fast!

The wind noise of a train steaming ahead at full tilt dwarfed the customary cacophony of squeals and humming rails. The train burst into the terminal at an ungodly speed so violently displacing air, even a dancer’s grace could not stop her from falling off balance into the train. With a telling crunch, the young woman rebounded from the side of the train, thrown aloft into a mortal pirouette. Her blood traced a path to the ground akin to the declining pitch of the wind noise she never heard; the red shift ran it’s course before her body could even settle.

Chase’s mind clamored. The image of her broken body left him paralyzed, a sickening realization of mortality nearly stopped his heart. He could not accept the carnal wreckage spackled before him. There had to be a living soul, she couldn’t be gone… and then he saw her chest sink.

         She’s breathing! I knew she was strong.

With her last breath, she cried out in agony, the scarf over her mouth darkened by the water of her tears. An electrical storm surged in her skull as she scrambled for the truth of her existence in its last instant.

         I can see her soul! It escapes her body before my eyes… I can’t let her go!

Chase scrambled to his feet grasping at her rising spirit, only for his hands to pass through her like so much steam. The cold air had played an even colder joke, forming wisps of condensation above her pooling, cooling blood. His hands, hardened by his trade, did not have the touch of a man attuned to a spiritual reality. His life of toiling over tools and train parts was taking its toll.