Posted at 01:12 AM by staticriot.
(Gravity, no escaping gravity.)
Behind the train's tinted windows, he could only see the dim sparks of what few lamp posts the highway had installed. It has always been this way down here: trains never travelled beyond where their tracks took them, people never got to see the greater landscape beyond the lines of sight the lackluster windows offered, and what decay smudged the old city walls, people paid no heed, for they had no means of getting through the steel doors of the secluded free ride, anyway. Soon, he hoped more than he thought, the trains would eventually wear their tracks out and, in a most appropriate ending, get derailed. Crash now, a voice screamed.
Behind the riders' stares lunging at every direction, idleness reigned, for there were all the reasons in inaction and none otherwise; they knew that they could only go where their visions allowed them and where their limited capacities dreamed them to be. He believed they knew wrong.
Behind eyes shut, there was only her pale, reticent face: she was as constant as the city that never got off its foundations, as firm in her resolute silence as the monotonous playlist that was the ambient stillness of the train; to him, the only difference lay in the scales of grayness, for there were no tones, nor hues, nor life - there was no progression, and only the unsaturated untruth of fruitful existence stared at him straight in the eye as if to mock him.
(Across the night, it was the moon that stole my slumber. Across the night, I fell in love with people sleeping and hugged a man's arthritic shoulder.)
Perhaps it was fair enough for the world to have stopped for him and for everyone else in the train, because in this world, progress never truly existed, except for Time, who never even noticed Her own challenge to chance upon a train derailed, a world animated.
It has always been this way down here: trains never travelled beyond where their tracks took them, people never got to see the greater landscape beyond the lines of sight the lackluster windows offered, and what decay smudged the old city walls, people paid no heed, and for a fair reason, or so it seems. They had no means of getting through the steel doors; besides, the seclusion was for free, however dead it was.
Placebo - Special K
Silverchair - Across The Night
7 pulse(s).