[CANCELLED AND MOVED]
"Were you able to get out of bed this morning?" he asked, staring into the water. His voice was soothing, with the rasp of a fire.
"I..." My breathing spiked. "I don't remember. I think so. I'm here now, right?"
"But did you ha...
The station was a domed, black box that stretched for five yards, with glass columns in each corner. Lining the space were cushioned benches and rugs on the white floor.
But after two hours of sitting with people I didn't know at a constant rotation, it got really good. People ran up and chatted with their parents; little kids played around on the floor. The overbearing fluorescent light made it feel more like winter than summer.
Cynaline paced around, while the rest of us huddled on a long bench.
He had reserved our seats for the MorteVista, which cost eighty dollars for all of us.
That's 160 United States dollars, which is expensive (for the time being).
To pass the time as we sat around, Cynaline showed us how to write our names in Zarcrotian.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
And I would've continued asking about the language, but the cold lights and yelling children killed that hope.
The sky grew orange behind the glass doors.
"Are you sure it's arriving today?" I groaned.
"I checked twenty times!" Cynaline rubbed his eyes. He yawned, his wings spreading in rhythm.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
An engine hummed in the distance, growing louder each second.
Then, a giant majesty stood in front of us. A solid black bullet train, with huge arched stained-glass windows, casting a rainbow on the ground. A long strip of blue light breathed, running from the front to the end of the bottom of it. Just like the model train, but more magical.
An computerized man's voice echoed from a speaker. "Welcome to the MorteVista. Passengers 1-20, please enter in a single line."
That was us.
Cynaline flew over to the doors, and we ran after him. They finally slid open, and we rushed out to make it to the train.
⚝⚝⚝
Standing right at the doors of the fifteen-foot-tall train was like meeting a dragon face to face. The engine's breathing didn't help.
The frame of the entrance lit up, signaling for us to enter.
The aisle was the width of a big hotel suite, and had the allure of one too. Instead of chairs, black cubicles separated the seats to their own space. The dark carpet felt like a blanket under my feet, and the sunset outside seemed to warmth the entire room.
We went to the very back of the train car. Cynaline opened one of the cubicles. Inside were three long, black couches on each wall except the door, with a wooden coffee table in between. We had our own stained-glass window, filling up the entire space. It had a small screen next to it, with a picture of a glass pattern. Maybe we could change it.
