3-Handed Combat

Posted: July 11, 2012 in Uncategorized

I saw the shape of your figure flicker in the rush of passing train lights, the rhythmic clack passing by as you made your way out of the seat, out of the car, and onto the tracks. Phasing through metal the way only your two-dimensional shadow could. And I ran.

I ran from the safer option, because of its affiliation with the unknown. When I learned what else was waiting for me out there in the navy darkness of a summer night, I wanted to see you again. To ask you questions. To have you tell me when we were, and when we were not alone. I wondered if the former was ever a possibility.

But when I returned, there was no way of knowing where you may have been. Just a last name and a fancy dress, an empty sleeper car, and a sense of curiosity as to how often the trains run, and how strong the headlights on the next one would be. There were too many ways to mess the plan up, too many reasons to be left waiting indefinitely, and not enough time to get clear of all the things looking to make use of me before the sun came up.

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