THE CAMPFIRE · ORIGINAL
The Last Train Home
She fell asleep on the last train of the night. When she woke up, every passenger in the car was asleep too, swaying in perfect time. The train wasn't stopping at any stations. And the conductor was counting tickets.
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My sister Nora worked late shifts at a hospital downtown. She took the last train home every night. The 1:12. It ran out of the city, through the suburbs, and then out into the dark country, where the stations were far apart, little platforms with one light and nobody on them.
Her stop was the ninth. Forty minutes. She always set an alarm on her phone so she wouldn't fall asleep and miss it.
One night in November, her phone died.
She woke up because the train was rocking. Hard. Faster than usual.
She didn't know where she was. Outside the windows, it was black. No lights. No houses. No stations. Just the dark and the sound of the wheels.
She looked at her phone. Dead. She looked for the little screen that showed the next stop. It was blank.
Then she looked around the car.
The fire is still burning
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