My mother always told me to never be late. Boy should I have listened to her. This thought swarms my brain as I relive all my past memories.
It was a late Sunday afternoon when I realized I had taken too much time at the museum. I knew I shouldn't have, for I lived in the small village that only had one way in: the train, and the last train always left at 7 pm. As I took a stroll down the city roads, I told myself that being late once is not so bad. The city bustled with life, and I was defying my parents' strict grasp. I never felt so alive. Looking back I realize something. Do all people who are about to die feel this way?
5 pm - the museum
I felt like some of the busts were speaking to me, and since I was an artist of sorts, I felt like this experience would spark my creativity, so I stayed, staring at the sculptures, staring at the paintings, until it was too late.
6 pm - the coffee shop
I couldn't go back to the village without bringing my mom her usual coffee order: black coffee. I always wondered why she didn't make her own coffee at home since her order was very simple, but I never told her that.
6:30 pm - running
The streets and buildings were all flashing in my peripheral vision as I ran quickly towards the train station, but I kinda figured it would be too late, and that I would have to ask one of my cousins to sleep at their places. I didn't like them, and I preferred my solitude in our broken home, but maybe I would have no choice. This thought made me run faster, and the train station loomed ahead in the fog.
7:10 pm - the train station
I looked at the front of the train station, and then at my pocket watch, realizing I'm 10 minutes late to the last train. I turned to leave, but I heard a train honking. I jumped inside of the train station and looked at the railways, and sure enough, the train was there. Maybe it was late too for some reason. Maybe the train conductor's mother would yell at him today too. Maybe I was slow today, because these simple thoughts almost made me miss the train moving. I ran to it with all my might, and jumped onto it while it began to accelerate. I made it to the train, and all that was left was for me to wait to get home. I wasn't really excited about that part.
The train moved incredibly slowly. The trees swayed with the wind, the fog rolled in and out of view, but the train seemed as if it didn't want to move. I looked out of the window, and realized that this wasn't the train I usually took. The paint was weathered, and the entire train was omitting weird black smoke. Maybe it wasn't black, but a deep red that I knew I had seen before, but couldn't seem to place at this moment.
Trying to figure out what was happening, I walked around the train cart I was in. No one was there but me. I moved to the adjacent cart, and no one was there as well. I decided to sit and wait, so I did, but not for long.
Some minutes later, some cloaked figures emerged ominously from the door of the cart, and started approaching me with graceful speed. I stood up to face them. One of them had a knife. It's a shame they immediately wanted to resort to violence.
There were 3 of them. They approached me further trying to corner me. I lifted up my finger and snapped. Two of them fell to the floor. The one with the knife remained. He looked around to his companions, but a second later was trying to jump at me. I dodged his attack, and pushed my hand through the air. That push made the final assailant hit the walls of the train and fall unconscious to the floor. The train was still moving slowly as I took the knife out of his hand, and stabbed him with it. I got off the train. I guess I do need to sleep at one of my cousins tonight. My mom would be furious, but will she reconsider after her wizard son had just killed three witch hunters and saved the coven?
