you're at the wrong station.

the girl was tired of being a protagonist.
in fact, she had never really asked to be one.
she would be irreparably happy to have been 
just another passenger.

she was instead,
stuck being 
an immortal with no home.

the train seemed so sad nowadays.
she didn't care about a window seat.
she sat down in the seat
nearest the exit.
as soon as the train stopped,
she would leave.

the sun stopped rising.
and the moon stopped singing.
the train travelled places that
resembled the oesophagus of something spiraling.
and she did not want to go back home.

the train stopped at a new station.
a boy with his shoes shined stepped onto the train.
this boy seemed to have his destination set. 
he bought a ticket, which our girl never had.
the train, now jam packed, left a seat beside our girl.

-

the girl no longer liked speaking to strangers.

her mother had warned her long ago, to keep her distance.

anger really is a funny emotion.

however it gets less funny when it rots into contempt.

not funny at all, actually.

she wasn't violent though. she never bit anybody before.

but it vexed her how simple this boy was.

how he didn't mind what seat he sat on as long as it was near her.

she kept mum, but her skin burnt with a stale anger. and a bit of rancid disgust.

these are ugly emotions.

she was not an ugly person.

it was an accident, she told herself.

(but only because she hadn't learnt how to explain herself yet.

from then on, all she did was explain herself.)

a hunger had been planted in her and

now there was nothing left of him. 

a greyscale shell.

and it felt so pompous to take credit for his ruin.

this train had no place without ghosts.

-

i'm sorry.

-

she tried running away, but no other train ever came.

always the blue train with red speckles and cranky wheels.

always right at dusk.

living the same day, over and over

and over again.

and watching different deaths

over and over

and over again.

-