Gilgamesh - Trains

Trains

. I wrote this, don't quite know why. Yet it's what I do, so here it is. Slightly morose in an urban kind of way. Hope it doesn't drag you down.
I sit at the station, for the second time today, travelling yet again on the iron horse, back to the salt mines that shred my soul daily. The signal board tells me that 2 minutes from now my train will arrive, I stare at the metal rails, just somewhere to fix my eyes so my imagination can escape this stark reality of life.
The other people in the station do the same, old, young, male, female, different walks of life and different social backgrounds, all waiting patiently for the transportation to anywhere but here. They look on, like a ritual that has been done so many times, finding a place to be comfortable, reading their papers, watching the sunlight against the buildings of just cleaning lint off their jackets, a religion of pilgrims daily travelling the tracks. Conversations are unwanted, we are just travellers here, not comrades in a voyage, we are merely sharing the same vehicle, that is all there is to our relationship.
I watch the rails as the small dragon appears in front of me, on transparent fairy wings that flash in the sunlight, it moves like a dart, it hovers for a second and then speeds off, I track it's flight my eyes happy to do something other than just stare. Dragonflies are swamp creatures, things of the green, yet it is here, following its prey, flying insects attracted to the garbage and refuse, so this predator on wings feeds well. There is a river nearby, probably its true home, I look at it and envy its simplicity that has carried it on the air for ages unimaginable.
I am a predator myself, a hunter of old, a follower of mammoths from ages past. The top of the food chain, all the others as my prey, my food. Now no longer a nomad, no longer following the seasons as the caribou migrate, I am chained to society, my food now comes in packages. Neatly cut pieces of meat inside plastic covered trays, cans of sauce and bottled water. My savage side tamed the hunter now domesticated. Like wild dogs, now chained in their backyards waiting for their masters to drop food in their bowl or plate.
My thoughts are shelved as the train arrives. A metal monster older than most of those that ride on it, the day is hot and humid, and I know this relic is equipped with no proper air conditioner. There is no reason to complain, I could always wait for the next one, or the one after that, soon there would be one of the newer trains with comfortable seats and climate control. I walk into the warm air of the carriage, I look in and see an empty seat.
There is a father with his son, they look happy, I sit behind them, they are talking but my ears no longer hear the sound of other people's conversation. There is a block placed by many trips, I concentrate on the sound the wheels make on the track, the rhythm of the carriage as it sways on the curves of this daily voyage. I lay my head against the glass and feel a small breeze from where the window seal has given up. It will do, the sun is in my face, harsh and warm, I do not worry, soon the train will face east and the sun will be behind me.
I close my eyes and think about the morning breakfast I had. I think about the warmth I felt as I relaxed at the table, slowly sipping a morning drink and being with a friend I love. The darkness of my eyelids become like screens of satin to replay the words and sights of moments past.
There are voices from strangers in my head, things are said and life is lived by others I have never met. I see their faces and walk inside their house, they offer me coffee while I sit watching their TV. I take a biscuit from the tray and slowly chew on the texture of the dough, baked in commercial ovens by computers and conveyor belts, never touching a human hand, sanitised of all the love and care that an old woman would give to them. There are letters to be written to people I don't know. The train stops and I wake up from my slumber, only a couple more stations to go.
A man , just finished from his job, stands next to my seat and gets ready to sit down. I take my bag off the seat and place it next to my feet. Not a word from me nor him, we sit close, not more than an inch between us. He wears a blue pin striped suit, taller than myself and meticulously arranged hair, though it's late I can smell his cologne. I sit there next to him in t-shirt and jeans, my hair doing what it wants to.
I can hear conversations in his head about the weekend and talk of the girls in the typing pool, it's just my mind, my prejudices coming out as I sit next to an office drone trying to live life as prescribed by the latest magazine. I shake off the thoughts and concentrate on resting instead. Work is getting closer, I can see the harbour, the train makes it's way over the mighty bridge, I look at the way the sun shines over the liquid blue below me.
The train pulls up at my station, I take my bag and say excuse me, in a voice unused for hours, a voice tired and unemotional as I get ready for the walk. I exit the train and place the straps of my bag over my shoulders, I feel its comfortable weight settle on my back and look at a billboard without interest. The bag is full with unnecessary things, yet I carry it for it is part of who I am.
I climb the stairs and get my ticket ready, the turnstiles wait as people queue to enter or exit the world of mass transportation. I insert the small piece of paper with its magnetic stripe telling the turnstile that I have the right to exit this place of going to and coming from but never for just being there. It acknowledges my status as a law abiding citizen and opens the gate so that I may walk through it.
I walk to work through the store lined corridors of this city. I wonder how many more times I will have to make this trip, how many thousands times I have done it already. I see people's faces as they pass me, a sea of strangers and unknowns. I ride the escalators and exit into the sunlight, knowing that tomorrow I will make the trip again.

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