I cursed myself as I missed the train. How could I be so stupid? Looking at the display board, I had at least an hour before the next one arrived and that was already delayed. Plus, I wasn’t sure whether my ticket would let me catch a later train and even if it did, I’d have a two-hour journey to Yorkshire and no seat reservation. Fun times. Mum and Dad will be pleased. Sighing, I started to walk away before I noticed a new train pull into Kings Cross. It was strange, looking so out of place at the platform. The train was oriental, with the tiled curling roofs one associates with Japan or China. The windows were as clear as a good conscience so that I saw commuters on the other platforms, rushing for their trains but not missing them like I did. The train was completely empty, long rows of wooden benches lining it with a stone floor. In fact, the entire train seemed to be made out of stone. How on earth did this thing move? I looked around, I realised that no one else seemed to have noticed that the train was there. They strode past, not so much as looking at the odd train at Platform 7. Even station staff walked past it without their eyes flicking towards it. I looked back up at the display screen, Platform 7 should be free. As I turned back, a dying groan of an old man was emitted from the train as its doors opened. There stood a ticket inspector. He had a curious uniform, dressed in some sort of old fashioned suit. His gloved hands motioned me to give him the ticket. I did, trying to get a glimpse of his face beneath his hat. All I saw was shadow. He shredded my ticket in some sort of golden clockwork contraption and stepped aside, letting me in. I assumed that as my ticket was accepted we’d be going to Leeds, so I got on. I turned around to thank him but he had vanished.
I touched the walls; they were indeed stone. Sitting down on the bench, I had a look around. The carriage was rectangular, cut roughly from light greyish stone. The ceiling was peaked, green tiled like the roof, and the floor was partially covered by a thin, sky blue rug. It all looked so new, as if no one but me had ever been here, yet, it felt old, ancient, as if it was a thin film covering a bubbling ocean of memories, waiting to burst forth. We started to move, the train was silent, a slab pushed across an oiled surface. The smoothness of the ride was lulling, I found myself drifting into dreams. I checked my watch; 9.15. Plenty of time for a little nap. Besides, the announcer should wake me up. I put my head on my luggage and let myself fall into a dreamless sleep.
I felt a bright, warm light wash over my face. Yawning, I opened my eyes. It was deliciously warm, somewhat tropical. The sky was clear with a snowy white sun lighting up the carriage. I sat up, stretched, looked out of the window and frowned. Where were we? I rubbed my eyes and stuck my head out of the window. There was no mistaking it. We were in the middle of an ocean, a clear warm ocean with no land in sight. Balmy droplets splashed against my face with fresh air whipping my hair up as the train glided along, cutting through the water like a Chinese dragon. Pulling my head back, I noticed I was sweating more than a sinner in church; my jumper sticking to my back and my feet oozing. I took off my jumper and, after a moment, my shoes and socks, leaving me in vest and shorts. Panicking slightly, I walked over to the end of the carriage to alert the driver. There was nothing there besides a few stickers saying something in Japanese perhaps, or maybe Chinese. Panicking a bit more, I walked over to the other side and found the same thing, except these stickers were in Hindi, similar to the stickers that plastered the rickshaws I rode in India during my travels through Asia. I started to breathe deeply and slowly, trying to get a hold of my anxiety. Taking out my phone, I turned it on to call someone for help. The phone didn’t turn on. I tried again. It was fully charged when I got on the train, how could it have no power now? The screen remained dark. Panicking quite a bit now, I sat down and put my head in my hands, taking shuddering breaths. I pinched myself, hoping it was a dream, hoping to wake up. I didn’t wake up. This was real. I felt trapped, claustrophobic, I couldn’t breathe. In an act of desperation, I shoved my head back out of the window. I felt the sun warm my face, the breeze feather my hair, the salty sea smell clear my airways. I leant back inside. It was easy. All I had to do now is get off at the next stop and find help. Easy. Rolling my head, I noticed I was no longer alone in the carriage.
