Twelve Hours

This is a bit of a sad one.

The late night train came in two flavours. The first choice, a veritable mix of awkward combinations, included the slanderous ramblings of drunk students, of tired old men wishing to be anywhere but there and of generally disturbing smells that no perfume could possibly hide. The second provided a whirring route of serenity, with empty carriages interconnected in a plea of silence in response to the whizzing of the darkness outside.

Tonight was the latter.

George had his head slumped on the window rest as his eyes flickered with the lights flickering back outside. His back curved against the solid arch of the seat whilst his hand rested a weary, tired mess of a mind. His face was flushed with the natural blues of a broken man. The occasional patter of a strange often passed by as he awaited his eventual departure. He wasn't sure where the train currently was, but that was fine - he already felt lost.

Twelve hours has the ability to do the most awesome things - twelve hours can be a lifetime.

She was all he ever wanted, and all that ever made him happy. Even good couples have bad times, but only great couples learn from them. They'd had their moments and their rollercoaster rides but their ride had stopped. She was seeing someone else and had to break it to him gently. George was a soft soul, a mush of a man to some, but ultimately the definition of caring. It had blind sided him like a personal tsunami.

He was thankful that he had the carriage to himself. The processional whirring of the train as it battered along the empty countryside lines allowed his every inner thought to occupy every empty seat. It almost felt as if the train was burdened with weight with the process that his inner voice was still taking. There were so many to talk to, but they were only himself. 

Eleven hours ago she broke the news. He'd come down to see her to talk about their future, to see if she felt they had a future. George wanted to make it serious, but perhaps his real mistake was taking it too seriously. He'd never felt such an overwhelming sense of neglect from someone who he felt so attached to. It was life, it was something millions go through all the time, but now it was him. He just never saw it coming.

As the train rattled onwards, the brightly lit reservation between the barren occupation of seats was disturbed by the arrival of the train attendant. She looked down and saw a man metaphorically demolished - but it was her job to ask as always. George slipped out the train ticket but continued to stare at the empty reflection looking back at him in the window. There are six billion people in the world but only one could understand him right now and he was looking right back. The ticket was stamped and the attendant left this hollow stranger to his thoughts.

Six hours ago they were still arguing. He still couldn't understand ho such a dramatic change could happen so unexpectedly, but George allowed her to explain. The spark had gone and she didn't feel happy with him. She wanted something new, a change that so many fear in life, something she was prepared to take on and move away from where George felt so comfortable and she'd found that. She'd found a life that didn't involve him. There was no bad excuse, just honesty and disappointment.

Onwards the journey continued amongst the occasional stoppage, a flurry of lights outside accompanied by the ghost platforms and doors that opened and closed for no one. His journey was long, but he felt his personal journey was now going to be longer. George was a man that believed heavily in fate, but fate was letting him down. How can something be fate if the choice is in someone else's hands? It was one of the many questions that this train journey had become.

Two hours ago, and he saw her for the last time. George didn't walk away and look back, and he didn't do the dramatic turn and walk back. He simply felt the replacement of her hand with the caress of a cold wind drifting through his fingers. There was no call, no text, no shouting. Just a harsh wind that refused to whisper a goodbye, just an accompanying chill. 

The train approached George's stop as he began to make his first real movement, standing to exit. The bakes squealed out as the train began it's descent and the station soon approached. George's cheeks were sore from the resting of his fractured mind. He took a sigh, looked upwards and stepped off. As he took every step into the cold of the midnight breeze, he wiped away the final few tears he'd exhausted outwards and walked through the station. One final hope, that he'd see someone he loved, that he'd see someone he cared and wanted to hold. One final hope for a surprise, that everything that'd happened was wrong and somehow that his fantasy of going back to how things were was about to happen. Just one moment.

Three empty taxis were stationed outside the station.

Twelve hours can make fantasy a harsh reality.