Books brought people together and gave them a path to worlds they would not otherwise experience.
- Karen Kingsbury, The Bridge
Books brought people together and gave them a path to worlds they would not otherwise experience.
- Karen Kingsbury, The Bridge
Train tracks. Ever on, into the sky on either side. Like my life. My life seemed to last forever. Hers lasted for only a moment. I shook away memories. No need to delve any deeper into useless facts. They were gone. Nowhere to be found on this earth again. Yes, it’s difficult to move on; but you have to. It never happens like in stories, how the girl always dies of heartbreak or the lack of will to live. Complete nonsense. We move on because we have to. There’s no way to escape the monotony of our lives. Scars only give us more of a reason to regret our lot.Cobblestone streets. Always there, just another piece of this world. Sure, there were helpful things here… if you were trying to keep living. We weren’t. We were forced to. Lives extended past the expiration date. Surviving on unwanted borrowed time.The train was taking longer than I should have thought possible. I’d been sitting here for at least five days. Stilskin was normally closer to punctual, especially with magic business; he didn’t like getting in trouble with higher councils. Finally the train came into sight, the headlights glaring through the darkness. I shook out my umbrella and left it and my suitcases sitting on the sidewalk. They were only to help with an alibi if anyone asked what I was doing. Stepping aboard, I smoothed a strand of brown hair from my forehead.“Stilskin, take me back to Triquiana.”The little man looked at me awkwardly and rubbed his glasses and returned them to their humble perch. “Erm... well, see, you’re not going to Triquiana.”“What do you mean?”“I’ve been ordered to take you to the Council.”Magicians and councils and trouble, oh my. Finally something exciting.
Two hundred dollars and a leather suitcase.
It's all I have left of her.
The last time I'd seen her was nearly three years ago. She'd been sitting on that leather trunk, her black traveling dress clean and pressed, but soaking wet even with the old black umbrella propped above her head. Her satchel was dripping pathetically on the brick walkway where she waited, but she didn't seem to notice... or care. Her head was craned eagerly to the side, her back rigid with anticipation, as the harsh yellow gaze of the train came barreling towards her. The picture was etched so clearly into my mind, there were days I almost believed I could still see her sitting there.
She'd left us against all the advice, persuasion, and threats we could muster. My father said he would disown her if she stepped foot on that train. But her mind was made up. "I'm doing the right thing, Mara." They were the last words I'd heard her speak before I turned and left her there. I listened to the train hiss to a stop, and a few minutes later chug on again. Only then did I dare to look back... and she was gone.
Twenty-three silent months later, and we received word we had a package on the train. Her leather trunk, shipped anonymously; a clipping of her obituary in an envelope on the front. Her death sounded suspicious at best. Her satchel was nowhere to be found.
My life seemed to last forever. Hers lasted only a moment.
It's my turn to await the train now. I'm going to the city my sister dreamed of- the one that took her life. I'm going to find who did this.
With all I have left of her- two hundred dollars and a leather suitcase.
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The raindrops bounced off her black umbrella with a blitheness in sharp contrast to the despondence of her posture. She used to like the storms. They sympathized with her, were there with her in darkness when all light had fled. But now even the rain did not care. Tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes for the first time in years. The sky would not do her crying today. Her frame shook as she sobbed silently. She covered her mouth to muffle the sound. He would hear.
As she tried to stifle her whimpering, the long sleeve of her overcoat slipped down her wrist. Quickly she pulled it back over the scars and bruises. He had told her never to let anyone see them, that people would lock her away, that they would hate her. He’d told her a lot of things. She still remembered his gentle words, his constant declarations of love. But she did not want love. Not anymore. Love hurt. “Are you alright, miss?”
She let out a small scream and turned around, eyes wide with terror. He’d found her. It had to be him– or one of his friends. She knew all about his friends. They were rough, coarse men who did things she did not like. Instantly her gaze dropped to the ground. Never make eye contact, that was the rule. The stranger repeated his question, stepping towards her. She nodded and backed away onto a set of train tracks. He started talking again, urgently, but she did not hear. In the distance, a piercing whistle broke into her dulled mind.
Then the train came, swift and sudden. It carried her away before the man could do anything. The umbrella floated to the ground. Rain’s tears bounced blithely off it, cold, and uncaring.