The Conductor

I awoke to the rhythmic jolting of a train. Perhaps awaking is not the right verb. To be awake, one need to have slept but no one slept on this train. Proverbially, I came to myself in the middle of this foreign but familiar coach. All I could see was rows upon rows of seats and of course their associated souls. The coach is full but silent, not too different from a church awaiting the beginning of a sermon. In fact, if it weren’t for the long line of windows on either side showing the same grey and bland landscape speeding by, I would well have said I awoke to the ceremonial monotony of a church. But of course, that would imply a number of sins which I would do well to avoid given my current circumstances.

And yes, what of my current circumstances? I used to know my name but not anymore. I never knew where I was going, no tickets, no destination. I suppose I could enquire as to where I came from, how I got here, where am I going but simply put, I didn’t care. I wasn’t any different to my fellow travellers: those who stayed awake for the journey were statuesque. They stared ahead, no newspaper, no magazine, no gadgets of any caliber to distract, to entertain. Through my right eye, I see we achieved an absolute acceptance of ourselves which is unfathomable for any human. Unlike us, they couldn’t make peace with themselves because they can’t tolerate purposelessness. Even those who could imagine a natural purposelessness still argue that purpose ought to be made artifically, as if a toy to distract the irresponsible or a crutch for the feeble to clutch. Through my left eye, I see our nonchalance as nothing more than symptoms of incapacitated souls. There’s no excitement, no fear, no anger, no stirring of emotion that would move any to express, to react, or even to idle… The stillness here is not worth understanding nor imagining. Then again, nobody really sees through their eyes and neither do I. As I mentioned before, I am just like my fellow travel companions: I cared neither for us nor humans, I cared neither for purpose nor purposelessness. I am not a judge, I’m just a humble traveler.

But of course, without difference there’s no story and as this is a story after all, I must divulge my secret. When I came to myself in this bland, frozen, framed carriage, there was exactly one thought stirring inside my head: The Conductor. And as most people, I strongly suspect that one thought is one too many for such simple creatures as ourselves because I don’t know who is the conductor or where he is. I don’t even know what I want to do once I meet the conductor but the thought burns itself deep into the nooks and crannies of my brain. And for any revelation so profound as to burn itself into the brain, it yields surprisingly little in results. I’ve sat here long enough. I’ve been thinking to myself, arguing with myself, I’ve been doing everything but doing. What to do?

To will is the first, to will to act is the second, to act is the third, and to fail is the fourth. It’s a routine that I know well enough but the difficulty to simply get up from my sordid, thread-bare coach-seat is proving to be Herculean. Why so? Is it because nothing stirs in the coach? Knowing I’m different from everyone and everything else is one thing but being different, to proclaim to the universe that I am here to shatter the balance, the rules, the perfection… It’s enough to kill someone, anyone, but alas, we fear not death. At last, in however broken a motion, I leaned forward. In doing so, every pair of eyeballs were cast my way. So odd was the scene. I am certain that those seated farther away can’t even perceive me with their periphery. Yet their eyeballs turned, turned so far to the side that they might well have enjoyed a free x-ray of their skulls. It took me a millennium from then to rise to my feet. I made not a noise. There’s still something sacred that we must preserve, a continuity from our long and immediate past. And silence was my sacred thing. But even the silence that used to be had given way to a low ambient sound. It buzzed by my ears, didn’t matter whether I walked, stopped, crouched, or ran.

I’ve comforted myself as I sought after the exit to the next carriage, that I still had a place among all that’s sacred, the silent, still, and sombre coach. After all, it wasn’t me breaking the silence. It was whatever it was that buzzed in my ears. For all I know, it could’ve been the sound of eyeballs rolling as everyone tracked my every movement in their fantastically still, silent, and sombre way. Like that, I’ve wandered and wandered so long, so far that I’ve lost all track of when and where. It’s always the same sight, always insignificantly different, always so monotonous. Yet the more I walked on, the angrier I got. I hated everything about the train, about its pathetic inhabitants. The more I walked on, the more scared I became. What if someone else already found The Conductor? What if I’ll spend my eternity wandering this dull place? The more I walked on, the more I yearned, the more I desired.

At long last, I chose forsaken the sacred silence. In a wordless scream, the train understood that I needed out, that I no longer belonged to the ashen gray carriage where nothing stirred, that I can no longer be contained. The door to the gangway appeared shortly thereafter. I didn’t hesitate to pull the door open. Air blasted onto my face; the train is picking up speed. The small balcony showed me the world outside. The gray world is behind me, the red one in front, a flaming, cackling world awaiting. I stood there for a little. There’s only one thought in my head: The Conductor. I looked one more time behind me. ‘ELYSIUM’ a non-descript etching above the door frame read. So long Ashen Ones, may you all be blessed in your silence.

The next car has its name scorched all around the door frame. ‘TARTARUS’. The road to the conductor is long, it seems, but the road must be walked.