The train made him remember all the rides he had taken with his family. Those train rides that eventually became a daily process to and from work. The train rides that would be precisely on time. While waiting at the station, he felt the tell-tale rumble of iron tracks reverberating through the ground and onto the platform he stood. Any moment soon, he would feel the rush of wind passing as the train cuts through the air, biting his skin colder than the winter gusts around him ever could. His skin. An antithesis to the metal of the train. His body. An antithesis to the train cars rushing closer. The legs he stands on. An antithesis to the reliable wheels that allow his transport. What good have these legs been for the past thirty-something years? Sure, they go up and down stairs, but they never provide enough leverage or momentum to, say, travel across country within a day. They never provide the proper speed to get to work on time. They never support anyone else except for him. How selfish. His selfishness. An antithesis to the community that a train provides. The screech of the brakes rung out high pitched in his ears as the train approached its destination. What good has he provided to the world so far? Has he provided good? His daily commute always brings back those memories of family rides. How they would have a moment of reprieve from their daily argumentative arrangement. Despite any trip to a far-off town or a mountain village, despite any amount of laughter that might be had, always lurking in the background was the resentment that grew between him and his wife. Him and his children. His children and his wife. Everyone resenting everyone resenting themselves. Each laugh, each smile, each brief glimmer of joy, the antithesis to the hate they would eventually return to. The hate that she did in fact return to. The hate that grew to a breaking point in which she and the kids never returned to his life. A daily argument replaced by a daily commute in hopes of daily happiness. So what good does this train ride to work do in the end? Does his bring him happiness? It only brings comparison. To a life that should have been. To a life that could be. He should have been a better man after all these years of learning lesson after lesson. He hasn’t been a shining example in any community. He hasn’t been a symbol of strength that anyone can look up to. That anyone can find comfort in. He hasn’t done what a train can do. Were a train to be a human, they would be what everyone compared their own lives to. A human train would be re-elected year after year as compassionate leader of the world. Unfortunately, a train can’t become a human. But what’s to stop him from becoming one with this machine? His life would be better in every way conceivable. For everyone he helps. Forever. His flesh, his metal body, his engine of a mind. To live as a train is to fully live. The brakes screeched louder, more piercing as he edged to the ledge. The warm embrace of the train hugged him tightly as it accepted his new life in the human-machine hybrid they became. Despite the cacophony of noise from the train arriving at its destination, no sound was louder than the screams of those around him who were bathed in his blood.
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Powerful, hard-to-chew and -swallow stuff! The constant return to "antithesis" (like a train returning to a station) aligns well with all I've learned over the past three years (not COVID related) concerning humans ad their roles at this planet, and is what the Bible hints at in its earliest chapters. In short: the narrator asks fair questions, ones everyone should ask, and ones which no one can really answer satisfactorily. My only qualm was the "jump" to the conclusion. Seemed to be too short of a gestation period where he MC mulled over his condition. Thanks for this...