The Train Station

It has been one long day of traveling.

I try my best not to fall asleep. The gloomy train station is the last place I want to be right now. All of these lifeless people sending out a depressing vibe; making no one want to be here. Christmas is almost here and there is only one small wreath hanging above the coffee stand. The wreath isn’t even decorated. It looks like it has been there for months seeing how it is almost dead. The station back in Chicago was decorated head to toe. Beautiful wreaths and garlands everywhere. My favorite was the Santa Clauses collecting money for the Salvation Army. They are so jolly and kind. Even though traveling is my least favorite thing to do, that station at least made it slightly enjoyable.

This is one of the few times I ever go back home. I go back for Christmas, Thanksgiving, and my mother’s birthday which is in April. I don’t mind going home. I love my family and miss my old town where I grew up, It is just the traveling part that I hate. Going to Seattle from Chicago by train is not fun. This time around I have to change trains four times. Granted by car would be worse. Endless hours of driving with the possibility of falling asleep behind the wheel. That could not end well. And I don’t do air planes. I suffer from horrible flight sickness. Therefore by train is the only way.

Right now I do not appreciate the winter weather. The front door to the station is broken and will not stay shut. Cold wisps of wind enter room, each time sending chills down my spine. And the hard wooden benches are doing nothing for my comfort.

I walk over to the lone coffee stand to get some hot coffee to warm me up. As I stand I wrap my gray wool coat tighter around my body and shove my hands in my pockets. I cannot believe I left my gloves back in the Chicago train station restroom.

As I approach the counter I notice the stand worker sitting on a stool with his head down on the counter, sleeping.

“Excuse me,” I say, trying to get his attention. But he does not awake.

“Excuse me,” I repeat, more irritated.

I notice a small silver bell resting on the counter next to the stale donuts. It is one of the ones teachers use in their class room to get the students attention. I take my hand and bring it down on the bell making it ring rather loudly.

The sleeping man jolts awake, looking slightly confused. Almost like he forgot he was working.

He spots me and spits, “What?”

He face is full of aggravation. The wrinkles on his forehead are very defined and his lips are frowning downward. His eyes are dead but at the same time on fire. I am in no mood to deal with people like him right now.

“I would like a coffee,” I spit back, matching his angered expression.

“Of course you would,” the man mumbles, irritation still plastered on his face.

The man turns around and starts filling a cup of coffee for me. He is mumbling words to him self that I cannot hear. Probably some smart comments about me waking him. But I honestly don’t care. Its his job to make coffee, not sleep.

He turns back around and roughly puts the coffee cup down on the counter. Coffee spills out the top, splashing on the counter form lack of a lid.

“No lid?” I ask. My annoyance level is reaching maximum occupation at this point.

“We’re all out,” the man states. “That’ll be $2.00.”

I know he’s lying. I can see a whole stack of lids behind him. I don’t even bother and take two one dollar bills out of my jacket pocket. I throw it on the counter, pick up my coffee, and walk back to my seat.

“Hey, no tip?” the man yells from the stand.

“Nope,” I reply not even looking back. And I continue walking back to my seat.

With a sigh I sit back down on the rock hard bench. I bring the Styrofoam cup to my lips and attempt to drink my coffee. Slightly burning my tongue, I bring the cup back down. Too hot to drink. I rest my head in my hand with my elbow propped up on the arm rest.

“Why do I put myself through this?” I ask myself.

My eye lids are getting heavy. It is getting harder and harder to hold them up. I have been awake for sixteen hours and I just want to sleep. My eyes slowly start to closed and I can’t stop it.

 

 

I get my eyes to open again. Sitting back up, I set my coffee cup on the seat next to me. I stand up and stretch my arms a bit. I spot a big clock on the wall. 9:30 PM. I still have some time before my train comes. Out of the corner of my eye I see a person. I turn to my left and see a tall man in a trench coat with a brief case in his hand. He is in mid-step, frozen. He’s not moving. One foot is planted on the ground and the other is slightly in the air. His eyes are locked in front of him. His jaw, firm, and his hand locked around the handle of the brief case.

“What is wrong with him?” I mumble quietly.

I look around to see if anyone else is seeing what I am. I walk over towards the coffee stand. The worker is sitting on his stool again, head down on the counter. I cannot see his face. His is so still, it doesn’t even look like he is breathing.

With a gasp, I run into the restroom behind me. I dash to the mirror and analyze myself. My cheeks are colorless and my eyes are dead. I turn on the faucet and splash cold water on my face. I grasp both sides of the sink and look back up at the mirror. I wipe the excess water off of my face with the sleeve of my coat.

“Oh my god!” I let of a scream and whip around. A woman is standing in front of one of the stalls and is just looking right at me. Her wrinkly skin and glass eyes make her look like evil.

I run past her and push the door open with both hands, exiting the restroom. In the rush, I trip over my own feet and land on my face.

“Ow!” I exclaim. I grab my head and slowly start to stand back up.

My eyes refocus on my surroundings. I am no longer in the train station.

“How did I get here?” I ask myself.

I take a few steps into a grassy field. The air is clean and fresh with the wind blowing calmly. Just strong enough to blow my hair around. The grass is as green as the trees and the flowers are at full bloom. The flower’s intense colors are accented from the sun, making them look like a photograph. Bumble bees buzz in and out of each flower. The soft hum of their wings make it seem as if they are speaking. A few butterflies are also sneaking within the huddles of flowers. Their colors so bright and beautiful; just as impressive as the flowers.

The heat of the sun is starting to make me sweat. I shed of my wool coat and take a seat on the soft grass. Taking a deep breath, I gently lay down on my back and look up into the sky. The grass is cool against my bare arms making the balance of warmth and coolness perfect.

Puffy white clouds move gracefully across the sky. The sun becomes so bright I have to shut my eyes. The sun’s rays continue to heat my body. The warmth feels fantastic against my former chilled skin. My limbs relax and all of my joints go limp.

Song birds are singing their hearts out. Their music is like a lullaby. I am too at peace to try to fight back the sleepiness.

The sun is quite hot now. The heat over my body is increasing. My left thigh feels like its burning.

“Ow!”

I quickly stand up and my empty coffee cup falls to the floor of the train station. My thigh is drenched in hot coffee. I spilt it all over my pants and part of my coat.

Not caring about my dropped cup I quickly enter the restroom and grab a bunch of paper towels.

“This stain will never come out,” I whine.

With no hope of getting the dark brown stain out of my nice blue jeans, I return to my bench. I now notice that there are no more people waiting in station. I turn to the big clock on the wall behind me.

10:45 PM.

I’ve missed my train.

Author's Note

Handed this in for a class. How is it?

Reviews

[Junger]

Have taken one trip with a family member and this remind myself how it is creepy there

[Jane Lockheart]

not sure how it did yet...handing it in tomorrow :D

[Shy Girl]

I took a metro once, and not impressed. Most frighening experience. I only went a few stops down the line. Peeps at those stands just can't be bothered. Pretty neat write for a class. How did it do?? :) Traveling...a nightmare in its self.