Short Stuffs - 4. Fiction: Forsaken

The mournful wail of the train’s whistle would be the last sound they ever heard.

The looming catastrophe grows nearer still, yet the panic fades. The doomed accept their grim Fate in silence; for the calm that emanates throughout the air is potent enough to smother out the sanity of even the sturdiest passengers.

It is five-to-two, and the countdown begins. In the distance another whistle moans through the fog, and quashes the hopes of the optimists. A few apathetic whispers form a discordant melody—a hushed nocturne of disbelief.

It is now two o’clock. The screech of the brake escorts them to annihilation. This departure alone has marked their demise.

Two-oh-two. The impact is crushing, but there is little evidence at first. The clang of the metal reverberates like a powder keg off of the mountains and trees. It tosses them on their backs like they were ragdolls. The glass shatters. The whip of the wind rattles their bodies, the bite of the cold digs into their flesh burying deep inside, chilling them to the bone. The two trains lay side by side, sprawled out and gutted.

Two ten. Not a soul can be seen for miles. A lone survivor walks along the desolate tracks to find assistance. But, it is in vain: none are aware of what has transpired. The icy grave offers her no respite. She stretches her hand to the heavens, seeking some sort of divine guidance, but her destiny has broken. Her soul is free from suffering.

There are few things finite and infinite in the universe; however, life and death are such.

It is nothing short of absolute.