Unto Elsewhere She Goes

When Gema found herself on that train for the first time, she was a mix of several parts terrified, confused, and upset. She had been a child when it happened, something small and unassuming with a horrible penchant for sleepwalking at night. If there was one thing she carried from her earliest years, it was her wanderings when she was asleep. Of dreams too real.

She would like to say she doesn't remember those days, that the events of the train were forgotten upon awakening. Gema knew if she did say such a thing, she would have been lying. And she was many things, but a liar she wasn't. Not if she could help it.

Whenever she thinks back to those days, Gema can't deny the unease licking at the back of her mind. She can't forget the cold touch as it traces a path along her spine.

No matter how she tried, she could never forget the train. She could never push it from her mind, from the station it rested in with its red-hued floors or the intense, blindingly bright light in the distance. She could see the station from inside the train, silent and devoid of any signs of life.

No, she could never forget. Not when she knew she would fall asleep in bed only to awaken in a daze inside a train in an unknown location. Gema knew she would stir, blinding the sands of sleep from her eyes, to find herself trembling in a seat as her heart races.

Gema would be on that train without any idea of how she found herself there in the first place. The doors would be locked. No matter how much she searched, she would not find a ticket to explain her location or the train's intended destination.

All there was her, the silence, the track, and a train that would slowly begin its journey. In between heartbeats, the train, still at the beginning, would jolt to life. The metal exoskeleton would groan around her as the wheels screeched below against the tracks. Then, slowly, the train would begin to move. It would move, picking up speed with no signs of slowing down.

A Train Running Away, Her A Prisoner Upon It.

Gema has no way to explain how, exactly, she repeatedly finds herself on a train. Are her interactions with the train a part of a dream far too realistic to be natural? Is she repressing her past in daydreams and nightmares?

As a child, it was normal for her to sleepwalk. So much so that, after one particular incident where she walked into the middle of a road, her parents started locking her into her room at night. A baby monitor was installed, and at night her activity was monitored.

It became so normal Gema never questioned it.

It's easier to let the dream go as it will. Gema walks through the multi-car locomotive, her fingers trailing over the paneling as the train rocks and sways along the track. The station was already long gone, by this point.

The fog that tended to coat the ground outside the train was still in place, thick and rolling across the empty fields in waves. There's still a red hue to the world beyond, the oceans of foliage spotted with bursts of crimson.

Gema is content to let the train go where it pleases.

Her input isn't needed.

She stops by one of the compartments, the door cracked open. Gema eases the door open all the way, her gaze sweeping over the room. The couch on one side, bolted down in place, with a table in front of it.

The window is wide, covered in frozen webs of frost. Closed as it is, Gema is able to see the still-red landscapes beyond the train. The slight curve of the track, the hills and forests in the distance.

Gema pulls her gaze from the window, gaze shifting to the other side of the cabin where a bed rests with a storage compartment above it. The bed is a small one, narrow, but the covers on it are thick and soft looking. A desk tucked at the foot of the bed, the chair hanging up on the wall by the door.

It's as the train takes the curve of a track she notices the house on the left.

It's partially hidden behind the wild world growing unchecked, subdued in a way the rest of the world beyond the train is. Gema rests with her hand against the doorway, watching, silent, as the house comes into view for a few minutes before falling away out of sight.

And she, as always, is naught but a prisoner on a train fleeing to elsewhere.

The Train Stops Not For The Lost Or Alone.

Perhaps one of the more interesting facts of these dream-based adventures to nowhere or elsewhere unnamed is the fact Gema's always alone. Which was, and is, odd for her. In other dreams, there are others. In the backdrop, the people lurk as props to make the dream feel more ... real.

When she finds herself on the train, there's no one.

There are no other passengers milling about the train despite many rooms having cargo in them or the dining carriage filled with tables complete with still-steaming food (some of it looking to be half-eaten). Some of the rooms have their numbers lit up, or a bathroom will sometimes be locked with the tab saying 'occupied.' These are small things, but noticeable and recurring.

Still, Gema is there and the train is moving. Steadily picking up speed, the world beyond the windows blurs. The landscapes outside seem to smear and stretch around the edges, almost as if they're attempting to hold onto the train as it passes.

She moves from one carriage to the next, pausing between to feel the wind throw back her hair. Sometimes, a scent carries on the wind. Fresh rain, a hint of something floral. Gema will lean into the rail between the two cars, hands wrapped around the cold metal rugs, and simply exist for a moment.

Stress falls away, in those short moments. The shadows of work slip from her mind, the echo of something breaking at the back of her thoughts lifting as the wheels continue to turn below. It's here, in these moments, that she doesn't want to slip into the next carriage.

She doesn't want to return to the train's empty interior.

The train, however, is always waiting.

There's no escaping it. Gema tried. When she was growing up, in the earliest years of teenagehood, she had downed more caffeine than what one would consider healthy. She prayed it would keep her awake, keep her away from the train and the endless journey.

No amount of soda or energy drinks could starve off sleep. It was a futile attempt Gema had tried repeatedly over the years. Like always, she was back, and, as usual, the train was steadily moving along to whatever destination was ahead of it.

Gema could feel the faint vibrations beneath her bare feet as the wheels clung to the track like inseparable lovers. It made her toes curl into the metal grating between the train's cars. The metal is warm under her skin.

A glance towards the horizon shows an overgrown, abandoned forest where the moss coats the trees. As Gema finally turns away from the scene, slipping inside once again, she relaxes.

The light shines through the windows, shrouding the train's interior in a mottled emerald hue that makes the golden flecks dancing through the air all the more noticeable.

The train's path is shifting, leaving behind the open fields for a tunnel for a moment before slipping into darkness and back into the light. Gema finds a seat, settling down to relax as the world bends and breaks as the train passes it by. There is little to do but wait, wait until the train reaches whatever destination ahead of it or until she awakens once again.

Lush landscapes fall away for grounds with a hint of grass. Deserts, almost, where the houses on the side of the tracks are more abandoned than the ones she had seen before. All of them empty, the crossings along the track eternally open. She hasn't ever seen a person or a car in all the times she had found herself on the train, and Gema knows that won't change.

No matter how much she might wish it to, this journey is one she makes on her own. From her childhood till now, and from now until the dreams themselves stop. If they ever will.

The Train Makes For The Same Path. Always.

Yes, the first time she had found herself on the train, she had been young and afraid. Angry, to a degree. And so very confused. It is easy to understand why when one stops to think about how realistic these kinds of dreams can be, and for how long they seem to drag on.

Over a decade has passed since the first one. A decade of moments where she was stolen away in her dreams to a train leaving a station with red-hued floors. She's older now, but no less confused than before.

Resigned, in a way. Content to let the train take her across countless landscapes, ever-praying that, one day, the reason for these dreams will make themselves known. Until then, she can only rest and wait. She can only observe. So Gema watches as the tracks continue to cross over landscapes devoid of life and noise, silent as the rest of the train and the empty passages and cabins.

It is only when the desert falls back and the forest returns, older and thicker and filled with hues of green and yellow does Gema know the path is coming to a close. She can feel the wheels starting to dig into the ground below, and she can hear the train screeching, metal heaving, as the train's many cars jerk and collide from the sudden break the train is attempting.

If she had gone to the front of the train, she would see what she had in the many dreams of her past. The tracks have come to an end, the earth caving in so only a chasm is what remains. A path the train is attempting to avoid as the tracks circle a drop where some kind of odd device, overgrown in moss and vines, resides.

Gema settles deeper into her seat, eyes closing, and waits.

Because she knows when the train crashes...

That is the moment she will wake.

Author's Note

Thanks for reading my story!

If you enjoyed reading this narrative of mine, heart the story, leave a comment, and add your insights below. I'd love to hear from you. There is also the option of leaving a tip if you'd like. I'm very happy you took the time to read my story. I enjoyed writing it.

This is my second entry for the Runaway Train Challenge, and it's quite a bit different from the first story I had written (Till Death Do You Part) before this one. It was a bit of a challenge.

Thanks for stopping by!