a night train to lisbon

“live a few hours more”,saying this Edwards handed me over the ticket and ofcourse the bag that tended to wear the color that I wore. Black. The bag had all that I’d asked for. Carrying Edwards’ non-chalant look I moved swiftly away makin’ him smaller in my optical dimensions.
The terminal was crowded even as my clock ticked eleven. The platform lights shine on their inventors. People hush around with baggage bigger than themselves, some just rest and some have their fill. And still the rest, like me, wonder what it is like being a traveler. My train will be here within the next ten minutes.
I allow myself to rest against the window pane. A teen sits across me. And so does his iPod. On my right is a woman who seems to increase a lot of companies’ revenues. Enough of the outside world but then that’s what I’m good at. Observance. The glass welcomes my iris to call out to the fast flyin’ trees. The distant sky brushes past the darkness at points where the stars shine. It was this dark that night.
(A night before…)
The parapet sheltered me from the rain. His Ford stood beside me. I needed to get into his basement so that I can create my reaver, my soul reaver. Crawling low onto the low-lying steps, I break into the basement. It’s kinda warm here. Broken tables and strange dummies lie around. Well I got no time to scoop around. I open up my bag. And the creation begins.
The metal crank on the base, the shuttle load over it, insert the capsule, screw in on the lens, align the finished end, cap the hold behind and forget you’re a human. I’m ready. Yeah, lite up the cigarette too.
Stealthly, after breaking into his restroom, I assume he must be havin’ a dive in his in-den swimming pool. The kind rich asses like him do to fight the chillin’ cold outside. I climb up to his changing room, hey! He’s coming perhaps. Uh! I’m a bit early in my assumption. I make myself thin against the wall. My ears say he’s changing. Yeah yeah after sometime you’ve to strip down all your possessions and serve in hell. Practice well.
From my lens cover, he seems to be enjoying the warm water float. A pull of the trigger and I can say I love her still. I can kiss her breath again, the games she played with the zephyr will again be mine and we can take time to drop Ethan at the university.
An acute angle of 37 degrees, 21 feet away. The red dot is on his head. A pull of the trigger. The red color is painted on his head.
I come out to see the rain Gods still dancing. My sweat joins in with them. Killing creatures does make us sweat. Carrying my bag, with my creation inside, I join the noctornos and curses keep pouring down. The silence shields me. The splatter cries foul and I keep walking on with her face calling me.
After an hour, I reached her office, all dressed up, to make my confessions. In the elevator I kept pinning my tie perfectly on. I look at my shoes, they shine well.
The next twenty minutes saw me running right back in the rain to the same place where I just had been an hour before. The receptionist had said that she’d received a call and she’d to rush back home. And what was home exactly, I mean she was alone as much as I knew. Maybe I got the wrong add but my back call returned the same answer. And now I stand near the same street light where I was dropped at by my paycheckers. The yellow line had been rounded up, the police sirens were low allowing me to hear her cry. She was covered in a blanket but why was she crying…did i..no. she was crying the way she’d cried in my arms when we’d met after months. She cried the way she‘d just lost the reason of her existence. She cried so cause the person near me told that they were to marry the next week. There were no thunders. I don’t move. But she does and too far away she moves …
(a night after…)
A decade under the influence of broken promises and gifted curses, I’d never known that I would come to end her life all over again. Never knew my last staunch to be human would leave me with memories too heavy to carry. The trees keep running fast. The iPod is sleeping with its owner.
I arrived at Lisbon at three o’clock.
I tread on, knowing not if the bullet hit him hard or me, with the my bag in hand.
Ethan must be sleeping. Let him.