Train Ride

The train sped through forests and trees, and all sorts of greens. The air it bulleted through was fresh and cool, and peaceful. It smelled of pine and earth, and reminded one of hearth and home. Outside \, trees on all sides, light beams filtered green as they danced on the carriage of the train.

She cowered on the floor between her seat, the one in front of her, her mother and the walls of the train.

The train whistled cheerfully, oblivious to was going on, what had gone on inside its belly. Smoke rose from the train, chugging out, thick, grey, ominous clouds.

She cowered underneath her mother. Limp, unmoving. She could feel liquid on her lip, she could see speckles of red on her glasses. Blurring her vision. Or were those the tears.

The train was beautiful, red, ornate, it looked as old as the day it was built, but ran as well as any train in this day and age. It had been renovated, the old parts removed and replaced, updated, two months ago. This was its second voyage ever.

She bit back sniffles. She could hear a pair of footsteps sauntering around. It could only be them.

The inside of the train still smelled like polish and wood, and lavender, and tea and sugar like when she had gotten in with her mother and Ted, who was her teddy bear.

The bear lay just beyond her feet, his usually light brown fur now damp and dark, and crimson. She did not dare to reach for him, even though she really needed one of his hugs right now.

It had raced through snow capped mountains, and yet it felt as if they were stuck in a time centuries ago, with all the amenities and luxuries of the present. These places were untouched by man, wild and free, animals looked up from foraging for food in the snow to stare at this metal beast bulleting through their home. This was the second time in two hundred years that something had gone through their habitat.

The footsteps faded. She held her breath for a little bit longer and then let it out. She couldn’t hold it for too long, she was only seven. She wanted to cry so much. But her mother had told her to be brave, and she would see daddy. Her mother’s eyes were wide with fear. She had never seen them like that before. So she was brave.

Waiters in black and white had appeared holding silver platters, with tea and biscuits, and chocolates for the children.

Her mother felt so cold, Anna wanted to scream.

A strange whistle had sounded, and one of them dropped his platter. It fell with a clang, and when she looked up from the split tea making patterns in the carpet, she saw that he had a gun. People started to scream, her mother pushed her into the corner she was in now, faced her, and told her what she needed to do. Then she had turned around.

Slowly a shot got rid of a scream a piece. She could hear shots from the other cabins. To her credit, her mother did not scream or tremble. To her credit, Anna did not either when her mother’s body splayed and writhed with a shot, and then lost life like water in cupped hands. She had hid and stayed still.