Not From Chicago.

On Death

Chug chug... Clink clank...
The car-train pulled into the station.
I, years plenty, and my body slowing,
Losing its life from what it hasn't lost yet,
Call my attention to the tracks.
I expect the usual, conductor leaning out,
His whistle blowing strong.
Yet I, and the others around,
Saw only a tiny hatch open
On the side panel of the car before us.
We looked to one another
With confusion and wonder.
Each wrinkled eye met the other as if to ask,
"What the living hell does this mean?"
But the station remained eerily still
For not a single soul knew the answer.

One figure emerged from the crowd,
Not yet seven years of age.
Her short blonde hair cascaded
Over her entire head but one part.
This absence of her golden strands revealed
A patch of skin with a stitched scar upon it.
As I looked closer I saw that her hair
Was but a gossamer, and when she reached up
To scratch some itch on her scalp,
A few golden strings were tugged along
And apart from her young head.
She eagerly climbed upon the train
And into the hatch, and she was gone.
Again, all of the people surrounding me
On the platform gazed inquisitively once more.
Every being of every age...every gender,
Every color, every anything...was silent,
For nobody knew what words to speak.

Another stepped forward; a man in his 30's perhaps.
No white or tan was to be on his skin,
Nor was there to be in his tight hair.
His body was immense and massive,
And he took the longest strides.
His body was perfect by the standard,
Yet his stomach was laden with blood-soaked gauze.
He stepped to the door and slithered his arm in.
I just a few seconds, only his feet were visible.
Presently they too stole through the door
And he was gone.

Next a couple stepped forward, hand in hand,
Their entire bodies shone. There were no clothes,
As there was none on every person,
Yet nobody passed any cruel judgement,
That wasn't their job to do.
Nobody felt self-concious,
None felt the need to cover.
The two had bruises over their entire body,
Both had burns and boils,
Yet their faces bore glee, bore joy and happiness,
Though it was evident that they had suffered
Through unimaginable pain and violence.
All they needed was each other for eternity.

One by one the passengers-to-be boarded.
Through the small hatch
And into the train they all passed.
Slowly the number dwindled until
Only I stood upon the station.
The train's whistle sound, low and moaning,
Bounded across my ears, but I stayed still.
Just then, I felt a hand on my shoulder,
Of a man in a charcoal suit and a dark mein.
"You must go, madam."
I shuddered at this, but stepped forward,
And I looked to the opening, dark and endless.
I turned to my behind, but all I saw was black,
There was no return... No going back.
I reached my arm into the hatch
And was suddenly sucked in. All was dark.
As I regained cognizance, I was the rest
Of the group standing or sitting
In the aisle or in a seat.
I traversed the aisle after I was informed
My seat was in the very last car.

Around me in the first car, I saw all children.
The oldest of all of them, I recognized
The golden girl I spied on the platform.
Of all the young I saw, most of them
Had no visible marks on their bodies.
Some had bandaged scars.
At that moment I recalled the years
Of my youth...the innocent, ignorant bliss.

In the next car I saw people of the age of a dozen,
Yet there was a good amount of sixteen or seventeen.
Most had bruises, some on their chests, some faces.
Some even had a distinct ring around their neck
That ascended their jawline behind the ears.
Some had heads with bandages
Seemingly latching their jaws shut,
Complimented by maroon gause
In a hat-like position atop their heads.
Of all their wounds, most seemed to me
Self-inflicted; only a minority
Implied natural, unintentional wounds.
At that moment, I recalled
The youthful, dangerous liberty,
Which was nice enough to spare me.

In the next car, there sat a larger range of ages.
I recalled the black man from the station platform.
The ones I saw spanned from early adult
To later adult...twenty to sixty.
Their wounds were split. Half bore none,
And half bore some. Stomach bandages,
Head wraps, bruises, burns...
Surgery scars were very prominent.

I happened upon the last car,
Wherein I saw many silver hairs.
I recognized nobody yet I saw all
And I had known it all.
I had lived amongst it all.
Surgery scars again were prominent,
Save for absence of any scarring.
Many had no marks whatsoever.
Their tickets had been stamped and placed
Upon their bedstand in the night.
Not one person in this car, nor the first,
Had bought their ticket by free will.
All were given, yet the second and third car
We're full of people who'd paid
For their tickets. Not all, but many.

I looked upon my empty seat on the window,
The golden plaque screwed to the armrest
Bore my name. "Loretta Faith Johnson"
I sat down and felt a wave of relief flush over me.
A voice then carried over the intercom
And I listen as I observed the station outside.
"Welcome to the December sixteenth trip
Eastward from Stoneton to Havenborough.
We hope your ride is peaceful.
As we rise, remember at your leisure,
We will arrive in our destination soon."
The train jolted and began to move.
I sat in my seat and thought about none
But the sweet face of my beloved husband, Allen.
I remember having a dream
About a train the night he went away.
I began to weep and the thought of him.
I wanted no more than to see his face
Only once again.

Suddenly, the windows, which I just noticed
No longer portrayed the scenery of the station,
Gave off a brilliant white.
I looked away from the light to the front of the car.
I saw, standing there, a man in conductor's garb
And a long pure white beard.
He smiled and tipped his cap,
And the white light blinded and presently vanished.

The light appeared again, this incandescent,
Artificial white light filled my eyes once more,
And I writhed and squirmed in my awkward body.
I felt my memory slip and I cried,
For I knew I'd never remember again
The life I had, the people I loved.
My eye caught the wall, the calendar upon it.
It read "December 16th, 2019"
I cried and cried until all perception was new.
I remembered none but the present moment.
I wept once more for some unknown reason.

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I apologize for the length on this one. It took me a week or so to write in my notebook and about an hour to transcribe here. I hope you enjoyed it, those who got to the end!
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