I woke up in tears today, my heart pounding, my throat hoarse from desperate nightmare screams for my family as the train slowly pulled out of some unknown station. It had been equal parts terror and grief, loss of those I loved and cared for and fear for myself, untethered and disconnected in this world. As the train had gathered speed, the harsh discordant beats of the wheels settling into an inexorable rhythm drawing me further away from any tiny remnants of familiarity, all I could see was the surreal curiosity of those whose lives continued untouched, in silent judgement of my bizarre behavior. And when he touched my shoulder, and I saw he had managed to climb aboard with the children, I burst into tears of sudden realization that this wasn’t just a detour, a few days of unrest, before my life returned to normal, this was my new normal, and I would never know boredom and security again.

I remember thinking it would be an adventure, a daring plan to escape from resigned acceptance. I was, after all, a believer in taking risks, somehow certain within myself that the unknown would resolve itself into something better, forever discontent with status quo. All it needed was a certain resolve, a strength, character and bravura, and I had that in spades. A little careful planning, packing what would be required, intelligent preparation was all we needed. The world lay before us. Our fingers traced exhilarating paths on beautiful detailed maps to a sparkling future, we could go anywhere, be anything, create a new us.

But somewhere on the way, we lost our belongings. The space we had on the train slowly encroached by others who were fleeing, who no longer let me believe I was moving towards a future, instead showing the colors of craven fugitives. I didn’t knew where the train was going, just that I couldn’t get off, my past had been obliterated by bombs, occupied by those who marched through the rubble left behind. Soon there was no space for the children to lay down and sleep as more and more people climbed aboard. Then we had to guard our sitting space, someone had to stay to occupy it on the floor of the train, the always wet, dirty patch that had become terrifyingly familiar.

When the train had pulled into the station, he had taken the children to get some food, in hopes of giving them a break from what they too had become used to, their eyes apathetic, the quiet acceptance a constant reproach. I had stayed behind to hold on to the little corner, there were ever more people joining us on that terrible journey. I watched as families walked by, mothers tugging on the arms of recalcitrant kids petulantly demanding attention, men self importantly shuffling papers and luggage. People on their way to visit relatives, celebrate festivals, argue and fight about normal daily irritations and bemoan the condition of the world. They had a present, a past and a future, a place to occupy in predictable space and time. Their activity became flurried as the train jerked and groaned. Oh no, the train was moving, where were they, I couldn’t see them, where was he and where were my children?

Frantically I scanned the platform, uncertain if I should jump off myself, and lose what little we had left, and the space we had fought so hard for in that train to nowhere. I screamed his name, and screamed and screamed for my kids, my life, my past, my home, my future. I couldn’t stop, caught as I was in the reality that was now mine, as I was borne away from even those remnants of my being. I screamed for refuge knowing it was lost forever.
-alka #alkawrites #alkaverse