A Stranger Among Fugitives:Escape to the End of the World

A traveler arrives in a deserted, frozen small town and stumbles upon a dimly lit cafe.

I have witnessed many peculiar occurrences in my life. Some events happen in a fleeting moment, seemingly without origin or destination, never to be repeated again. Such moments make life seem tedious.

As I approached the end of my third decade, life had become repetitive and monotonous. Nothing surprises me anymore, and everything that occurred seemed unoriginal. That's why I preferred to spend most of my time traveling. The more I saw, the more I realized that creation was akin to a photocopy machine.

I stayed in each city for a week, dividing my time equally between day and night. Nights, in particular, were more alluring to me, as they concealed the unseemly aspects of certain things. Eventually, the cold winter arrived, and I found myself in a small town at the edge of the world. The train arrived late at night, and I was the only passenger to disembark. Although I thought no other station was in operation, there were people in the train carriages who appeared to be frozen in place. It was colder than I anticipated for early winter, and the town appeared deserted. At first glance, I saw no one except for the elderly guard dozing in a small kiosk. When I left the station, I followed the streetlights, walking slowly and leisurely. Nothing noteworthy caught my eye. There were small, scattered shops with low shutters or dark opaque glass, and houses with closed doors and windows. I could not tell if it was because of the cold weather or if the town was always asleep at that time.

I began to feel apprehensive when I noticed a neon light flashing red and blue at the end of a side street. It was dark everywhere. I squinted, trying to see any signs, but all I could make out was the flashing neon. I entered the alley cautiously. Not a single cat was in sight. When I got closer, I realized there was either a café or a small hotel. I wasn't sure whether to enter or leave. Like all the other buildings, the windows were fogged up, and nothing was visible.

Tentatively, I reached for the large wooden door and pushed it open. The door creaked, and I was hit with the delightful warmth of coffee and alcoholic beverages. For a moment, I relished the feeling of being among people. It was a small café with a compact bar at one end. There were no tables or chairs in the middle of the café. All but one of the seats behind the bar were taken. Although everyone had their backs to the door, no one turned to look at me or showed any curiosity.

With cautious steps, I approached the only empty seat in the dimly lit cafe. The patrons, all donning black attire, remained silent and unresponsive to my presence. Fear began to grip me, but years of travel had instilled a sense of bravery within me that even my timid nature couldn't suppress. I took a deep breath and sat down, placing my bag on the floor beside me. As I fished a cigarette from my coat pocket, a stranger to my right produced a lighter and ignited the end of my smoke. Though I couldn't make out his face in the low light, I interpreted his gesture as a friendly one and felt my nerves ease.

As I took a drag of my cigarette, a voice boomed from the other end of the bar, "What are you having?" It was a gruff, impatient voice, belonging to someone who seemed drunk and belligerent. "A big glass of Nescafe," I responded quickly, hoping to appease the stranger's impatience. To my surprise, an unseen hand promptly placed a large glass of coffee in front of me, the aroma of the rich brew wafting up to my nose. I couldn't help but marvel at the promptness of my order, but my focus was soon drawn back to the blackness in front of me, reminiscent of a void.

As I sipped my Nescafe, a man beside me asked, "What do you do for a living?" Though I'd answered this question countless times before, I found myself responding with a new answer, "I'm a passenger." The man nodded, taking another drag of his cigarette. "A decent job, but there's no future in it," he mused. I nodded in agreement, taking another sip of my coffee.

Suddenly, the man spoke up again. "I'm a fugitive," he confessed. "That's all I am now. Would you like to hear my story?"

I didn't feel like listening to him, but he didn't wait for my answer and continued, "Yes, I'm a fugitive, but what does it matter to you? I don't know who you are or why you're here, but all the people you see here have a good reason for being here. They escaped. This is the end of the world. There's no one to find us. We're comfortable. We sit in this cafe day and night, and cigarettes, coffee, and alcohol are our whole lives."

My fear increased little by little. Was I sitting among a group of fugitives? Maybe I had talked to a crazy person.

He continued, "I haven't been here for more than two weeks, but when you stay here, time loses its importance. Now it's like I've spent my whole life here. If you stay, you'll be here for the rest of your life. Listen to me. All the people here, when they see a newcomer, remember the reason they ran away, because they don't like newcomers. This time, I was the most unlucky to have to talk to you. Now listen, Ken. You don't need to say anything or give an opinion. I don't need anyone's sympathy or approval. I have nothing to depend on now. Nothing is mine, and that means running away. It's true that you made me remember my whole past, but I don't want to hurt you. I ran away from everything a long time ago. From the time when everything became repetitive for me. I didn't even bother with my wife, who loved me passionately, and I thought, what a boring married life I have. It happened that my passing fell here. This is the only place where you get used to forgetting."

I was less afraid of him. I asked cautiously, "Does that mean no one is looking for you anymore? Your wife? Your family?"

He said, "No, this is the bottom of the world. A place where only fugitives can find it. We don't know how and when we were dragged here, but we all know that only fugitives can find their way here."

I thought, No! I was not a fugitive. Maybe I was a little tired of life, but I still had hope. I should not have let the words of this madman, or as he called himself, a fugitive, take root in my mind. I said to myself, "I have to leave this sad city as soon as possible. Yes, I have to go. The sooner I go, the better."

When I finished my Nescafe, I said to myself, it's time to go. I didn't know if I should say goodbye or not, but I didn't want to talk anymore. I got up, took my bag, and slowly went to the door. I pushed down on the damp, rusted handle. The door was locked. Suddenly, my conversationalist said, "It's not morning yet. Come and sit down."

"What do you mean? I can't go until morning?"

"Sit down and have another drink. It's still early. No train is coming now."

My nerves were messed up. I said angrily, "Open the door. I want to leave now."

"We've thought about it and concluded that you shouldn't go," he said softly. "You're one of us too. Don't make a mistake. You can go to the open cafe if you want, but you can't leave this city. There are no more train stations. There's not even a road out. The only option is to become a fugitive. Then you'll have a compelling reason to stay here. You're free anyway, but not within yourself."

His words injected me with despair, and fear crept up my spine. I quickly stood up and went to the door. I pulled the handle and threw myself into the alley. I knew I had to escape that city. I ran and screamed until I couldn't run anymore. Gradually, the weather started to brighten up. I longed to see someone and talk to them. I wanted to make sure that what happened was just a nightmare.

I turned around and went back to the cafe. As I entered, all the people in the cafe turned to look at me, and I realized that each face was a reflection of my own. Each person represented a part of me trying to escape from something.

"No!" I shouted at them. "I don't want to be a fugitive anymore. This is the only part of me that should have hope. I'm leaving this place anyway. I don't want to be a fugitive!"

I screamed with all my heart, desperately wanting to go back to my normal life. Suddenly, the faces in front of me became blurred and disappeared one by one, as if being released.

At that moment, I heard the sound of a train horn. I smiled at the faces and waved goodbye before quickly running to the station.

Reviews

[Ballpark Frank]

This is well written and compelling. Nice! I like the drama in this and i can connect with this somehow.
It seems to me that you should continue......Is there more to this?