Trapped

Milton thought about Far Shore often and dreamt about it even more. While his eyelids flickered from REM trance, crashing ocean waves ensnared his vision. As the dark briny lifeblood of millions of nautical creatures receded from white, shimmering sand, bioluminescent jellyfish undulated beneath the glow of a yellow moon. Milton wondered how the sand reflected the moonlight so well. It couldn't be possible to shimmer so brilliantly from the dull glow of the moon, but he couldn't be sure as he’d never seen a beach in person.

He moved closer to the waves to inspect the sea life and to feel the cool water between his toes. But the closer he got to the water, the further it retreated. He followed for a while until at last he stopped watching the shoreline and looked in the distance. A wall of water had risen a mile out. He turned and ran, and no matter how fast he ran from the wave, its ever-encroaching presence loomed over him until it eventually caught up and swept him away.

The train hit a bump in the tracks and jerked Milton to alertness.

He was on the train. Again. He wasn’t sure if it was the millionth or millionth and first ride, but he was certain it was somewhere around there. In actuality, it was his four thousand and twenty-fourth, though at some point numbers become lost in the mundanity of it all. He thought it was Saturday, but it could have been Wednesday for all anyone knows, and still, he didn't care. He was a little perturbed by his state from the previous night. Milton could still feel a bit of the booze in his system. He knew the train would stop at Weston and he would get off the train, walk to work, do his stupid little job, hop back on the train, head home, cry, eat, get drunk, sleep, repeat. Sometimes he didn't cry, sometimes he just sat in silence.

His job paid him enough to survive, but not enough to live, so vacations weren't so much a luxury as they were a relic of the past. Something he could only do when his parents had paid for it. But they were gone, and so was any hope of reaching Far Shore. The best part of his life had passed and he knew it.

As the familiar landscape flew by like it had a million times before, Milton noticed the Weston train station sign zoom past. He thought nothing of it at first, like the many electric towers and farmlands he’d passed. Milton craned his neck to confirm what he’d just seen.

Behind, Weston station grew smaller by the second, and in front—well, he couldn’t be sure as he’d never gone so far. He couldn’t think of it. Milton’s main concern was what would happen when he didn’t show up for work. What would his coworkers think? Would he get fired? If so, how would he pay his bills? How long until he could find another job? And without a reference? Certainly, anyone who didn’t show up for work would be considered unworthy of a reference. But it was the only adult job he’d ever had. He got out of his seat and paced.

Milton went over multiple conversations in his head. With his boss, with his coworkers, with his dearly departed parents. What would they think of this? It wasn’t his fault of course, but still, his neck would be the one under the sharp blade of the guillotine. He knew he couldn’t get a doctor’s note from the train conductor. As his pacing continued, he noticed he was the only person in his train car. Where was everyone else, he wondered?

The lights began to flicker in his car and then switched off. He looked behind him and realized that the next car over still had its lights on. How nice it would be to still have light in here, he thought. He looked through the window. There, a woman with dark, greying hair sat with a newspaper spread before her. She was occupied. If she wanted to help Milton, he figured she would do it of her own accord. So he took the closest seat and waited. He watched through the window at the woman as she read each page, following each word with a slow-paced finger. Then, she would lick said finger, turn the page and continue. He tapped his fingers against his thigh. Waiting… waiting… She had done this for many minutes before Milton decided to rule her out as a potential source of help.

He returned to his seat, defeated, and awaited an announcement from the conductor. But none came. He became aware of the emergency window. He knew that if he needed to escape the ever-moving train, this was certainly an option, though probably the last one he should take since there was no way of getting back on the train if he needed to.

He checked his wallet to see if he had any cash for a return ticket. Nothing. He should have had at least enough for another ticket. He must have been robbed in his drunken stupor, and now he was stranded without cash on a runaway train. He felt his ticket to Weston in his other back pocket. A lot of good it would do him now, he figured.

Milton had the notion that going to the conductor may be the best way to get to the bottom of what was going on. But which way was the front of the train? He couldn't be sure. He went to the train door—the one without the newspaper-reading lady since she was too preoccupied to even look in his direction—and put his hand on the button to open the next car. But what if it wasn't the right way? Surely he would look like a fool, walking through the train car while everyone stared at him. He didn’t bother looking through the window to see if anyone was there, he was certain they were and that they would mock and sneer as he passed them.

So, once again Milton returned to his seat and eyed the emergency window. He didn't want to use it, truly, but he was running out of options.

A brilliant plan formed within his racing mind. His phone. His phone would solve all his problems. He could call someone from work and tell them what’s going on. He reached within his pocket and pulled out his saving grace. Or so he thought. The bars on the top of his phone were empty. No connection. He threw the phone against the wall which brought his eye to the emergency exit window once again.

As the train sped on, he wondered where he was going and why everything was working against him? Whatever he tried or thought of seemed to turn to sand between his fingers. His thoughts returned to work, life, his parents, and Far Shore. Though the idea of his parents' disappointment saddened him, he knew they were gone. Didn't matter what they thought.

Milton marched over to the emergency window and peeled the red seal away. He poked his head out, ready to go. But a sinking fear gripped him. He pulled his head back in.

Where was the train going? And Why? He wondered again. He thought of the Far Shore once more, but then made up his mind. He was happy that he had come to a decision. No. Relieved. He smiled.

As Milton leaped from the window, his ticket flew from his back pocket.

The woman reading her newspaper heard a thump, so she looked up. A ticket was pressed against the window, only briefly, but she read the words “Far Shore. One Way” before it was taken by the wind.

She lifted the paper again and continued reading.