There was a time in the past, I had to travel a lot to go work. Trains, undergrounds. I had to wake up early and work right after one hour or more of travel. It was tiring. Work was. Life was, still is. I would stand there and wait for my train outside this lonely station. One could hear the bells ringing furiously whenever a cargo train or a faster one would be passing by and not stop and when it happened the mass of air it raised would make my hair fly around messily.
Such a temptation they always had been. Trains. Small, unimportant stations. Futile lives. The waiting and the speed.
When the bells started ringing, everything in my head would go still and as the train would get close I’d be counting the seconds. The seconds until I could step foward. When the bells started ringing, I’d imagine myself jump into the rails just as the train would pass and my body be scattered against it, against the ground, against life. I had imagined it so many times. Just these little steps and everything could change, everything could stop being. It’s scary in a way, how easy it is to die.