![]() What Happens HappensA Chapter by Marchosias D'Azreal-July 13, 1884 A sharp jerk pulls me out of my thoughts and away from my journal, sending me lurching forward, and my pen flying off of the page, leaving an ugly blue mark trailing halfway across the page. "Are we there?" I ask John in confusion. At 24, he's my older, albeit adopted, brother; I'm only 21. Together, we had traveled through half the country, starting in our hometown of Portland, Maine. "I'm not sure. Maybe we should ask the conductor." He suggests, glancing out the window. We were at the train station, but the train was still moving. Oh, well. What happens, happens.
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