The Train to Nowhere

Chapter 3 - The Hallway

Looking around the room, the girl was surprised to find it empty, the bed neatly made. She looked around the room, then back at the bed.

"Dad? Where are you?" she called out. She searched the small room, turning it upside down and inside out. "Where are you?" the girl sobbed after checking the adjoining bathroom and all of the cupboards. She ripped the sheets off the bed in a vain effort to find the apparently missing patient before collapsing beside it, tears streaming down her face. "You're supposed to be here."

After a while, she moved over to the window to look out at the white void that went on endlessly. She spent the next several nights just staring out that window, waiting for her Dad to come back. He never did. Finally, the girl's eyes wandered down to the ground, but there was something there that hadn't been when she walked into the hospital. She squinted her eyes, rubbing them for good measure, trying to determine whether what she was seeing was real or not. There, by the main entrance, plain as day, was a train station. It wasn't anything special, just a small platform with a roof next to a track that also hadn't been there before. Thoughts started cascading through the girl's foggy mind as she remembered the train that everyone was talking about. Stations mean trains, and trains mean engines. If she could get to the station, maybe she could get to the engine and get her wish granted.

Standing up, the girl wiped her tears and walked toward the door with a newfound purpose. When she stepped through, she found herself back in the hallway, but this time she was no longer alone. The hallway was filled with other people, though she didn't recognize anyone. They were all milling about, bumping into each other, some trying to find seats, others simply standing in place, some were doctors or nurses, others were patients or visitors. Despite being crammed so close together, nobody seemed to be interacting.

The girl looked around for her Dad, hoping that maybe he was somewhere in the crowd, but eventually thought better of it. She eventually came to the decision to try and leave. Easier said than done. Trying to get to the front door of the hospital was like trying to swim through peanut butter. The other people were packed in so tight that there wasn't really any room to move around. Try as she might, the girl barely moved an inch that night, and the night after.

At school, she overheard some conversations that caught her interest, those mainly consisting of details about the train. The topic was becoming more prevalent everywhere she went, and she finally heard someone explain how you get on. Apparently, you started off in your first challenge, and all you had to do was make it through and you would be able to get on. So, in theory, that meant that all the girl needed to do was just complete her first challenge, whatever that was. Still though, that didn't suddenly make her an Olympic peanut butter swimmer, which is what she decided she would have to be in order to even make it to the lobby and subsequently the main entrance. On top of that, she had to decide if it was worth the risk. She had heard that some of the challenges that some pilgrims, as she had heard them called, had to face drove them mad.

No, you can't think like that! This wish is too important to give up on. I have to see it through, she thought to herself. In order to succeed in her goal of reaching the exit, the girl decided to practice crowd weaving at school, where the people to square foot ratio was a little more manageable and less sardines in a can. She was proud to say that it seemed to be paying off as she made a little more progress each night, even if it was at the cost of weird stares and awkward apologies for bumping into people at school. One night, she even managed to squeeze into a seat for a breather, though she immediately regretted the decision as she was no longer a part of the crowd and had to push her way back in.

One day, as the girl absentmindedly ate breakfast with her mother, she asked a rather peculiar question. "Hey Mom, how do you swim through peanut butter?" Her mother stared at her in surprise.

"What on Earth prompted that question?" she asked, amusement creeping into her voice as she spoke.

"Just trying to figure out how to squeeze through a sardine can," she replied, clarifying absolutely nothing.

"What?" her mother asked as the girl dropped her dishes off at the sink and made her way out the door. Her mother shook her head with a confused smile on her face as she stood to leave as well.

That night, the girl was determined to make it out of the hospital, having determined that that must be her way onto the train. She was done being polite, she was just going to charge through until she made it to the door. Things did not go as planned. It turns out that it doesn't matter how ruthless you are at shoving through a crowd when you only weigh 80 pounds. Nobody budged. She instead found herself crawling along the floor in between people's legs, though that was a perilous endeavor in itself. After several more nights of crawling, she managed to successfully navigate her way to the lobby, though she got lost a few times, costing her almost a week. She kept on crawling across the lobby until she was finally less than a yard from the door. She tried to reach out and grab it, cursing her short arms when she missed by a mile.

She dropped back on the floor to continue for the last couple feet, finally bumping her head against the door, and then the handle with a resonate thump as she stood. She let out a yelp and quickly began rubbing the sore spot while glaring savagely at the door. It stood mockingly unmoved. Grumbling, she grasped the handle and tried to slide the door open to the side, briefly grumbling about her misfortune at it not being an automatic door. It didn't move. She tried to push it with the same result. Her heart sank as she came to a realization. She pulled on the door, and it opened about half an inch before bumping into someone. She tried a few more times, trying to push people out of the way so that the door could swing freely.

She let her head fall forward, her forehead thumping against the creaky door. "Why?" she asked no one in particular, "Why? Why would anyone build a door to swing into a tightly packed room like this!?!"