train stations

viii.

"You haven't eaten?"

The world shifted as she looked up to see who was talking to her. Through the blur, she vaguely recognized the strange woman who had spoken to her the night before. She was wearing a bright yellow sundress. Radiance next to dullness—not light, not darkness.

She looked back down at the tray of food.

"I never really eat breakfast," her mouth said.

"I guess I normally don't either, but I just don't usually want to cook."

Silence—her new friend was waiting for a response. There was nothing else to say.

"Honestly, the eggs weren't that bad," Melanie continued. "I don't normally like scrambled eggs, but these were pretty good. You should try them before they come back to collect the trays."

She looked at the tray, grimacing. The pale yellow seemed sickly compared to Melanie's warm appearance. "I'm feeling kind of nauseated," she said. "I think I'm still getting used to the train."

Those dark eyes watched her intently. She didn't believe her, but it didn't matter.

"Do you mind if I sit?" she asked.

I'm afraid your light will touch me and lift me into the sky to eat breakfast with the angels and fall asleep against the moon, drunk and honest.

"No, I don't mind." She moved the paper back into her backpack.

I stepped out of Hell and walked into Purgatory.

"Do you have family?"

I pretended I did, but I haven't for a long time.

"I'm married," she said.

Melanie raised her eyebrows. "But you look so young."

"Well, we got married just a few days after I turned eighteen." She had no love in her voice, only guilt and sorrow.

"How long have you been married then?"

"Two years now."

She should have asked how much longer.