Under the Bridge by: Jonathan Sencion, Digital Photo, 2018
The Last Metro
Nobody can remember exactly when it happened, but the earth was taking its last breath. Most people already fled to shuttles to escape the inevitable disaster. Others are with their families spending their final moments with the ones they love. But I, I am walking amongst a few other shadows in the train station. I don’t have a destination and neither do they. We are just here. Who knows the reason why they chose here–I certainly don’t–but we all know that there is nowhere else we’d rather be. The train pulls in. The driver seems familiar. Maybe I once knew him, but I don’t know anyone anymore.
The driver blew the whistle but nobody moved. There was nobody to move, not a soul to be found, not a whisper to be heard, and yet it was so crowded. Too many voices, too many people hurrying to get on board, too many times the ground shook with fire as screams exploded in my ears. Too many times did I not hear the laughter of a child, the song of a bird, the echo of my own voice. The whistle did not blow again. It had no need. Everyone was already on the train.
The driver lingered there staring at me with a confused look. The station around me was calm and disgusting, but also chaotic and beautiful. It was bustling with life and it was bathed in fire. It was clean as could be and it was littered with debris. The driver took one last glance knowing that this was the last ride. Just like the reflections that boarded his train, he had no destination. He did not wish to get away. He did not wish to be with his loved ones, but he dared not be alone. The train started moving and I watched it go. I stayed behind at the station and I watched from inside the train as I was left behind.
The train took off and it was going nowhere. None of the people on board were going to return. They’d be replaced with different faces or none at all. They’d look like me, but I’d never know them. They’d be fighting for their lives and longing for death. There was no destination for that train. Everyone knew it. Some spoke of it, but none protested it. Nowhere is where everyone wanted to be. It’s where I belonged.
I waited for the train to leave, but it wasn’t moving. It was already gone. It had gone to nowhere taking many with it, and leaving me behind. But why would the train have to leave? This was nowhere. There were no families, no friends, no dogs barking, no cats meowing, no birds chirping, no music, no singing, no laughter, no crying, no hate, no war, no noise, no silence. There was nothing, but did that make it nowhere? Perhaps not. Perhaps nowhere was a place with everything, a place where everyone stood but nobody could reach. Perhaps nowhere is where I stood.