Last Night Locomotive

Final wish: First class

I guess the warmth of the world was never meant for me.

I have stopped shivering long ago, the cold is just something to get used to and with time it can become either the friend or foe that reminds you that you're alive.

The rain outside doesn't seem to stop any time soon. I'm glad I'm not out there, but feel guilty for those who are.

I was lucky enough to be able to sneak in here, this train station.

I'm not planning on paying for entrance, I don't have the money.

I really don't have any money, the bit I got from begging today, was only able to buy me a little bit of food.

Much less than normal, but it doesn't matter, I've made my peace with it.

It's not going to become any better.

I know that.

I've already given up on getting better, because I won't.

The only things I own are the rags I'm wearing, and the hole-filled shoes on my cold feet.

I take another look around to see if I see any of the guards, but they aren't here tonight.

Good, the entire station seems deserted.

Looking inside the trash bins I finally spot something useful, I take an old newspaper and make a bed with it.

From my life living homeless, I've learned a lot, how easy and how difficult everything can be.

But it's only easy when you have thrown everything away: Dignity, motivation, will to live and empathy.

People feel bad for me, people despise me.

But that's just the way I have to survive.

As I've straightened the rough paper I lie down in my diy bed, the cold goes straight through the thin paper, but at least I'm dry.

Slowly I close my eyes, welcoming the darkness that will keep me from my misery for even less than a night, if I'm lucky.

I suddenly wake up from a whisper, but I keep on pretending like I am still vast asleep. The chance of getting sent out again will be smaller that way after all. I can just book it out anyway ...and perhaps the chance of getting caught and sent to a police station to spend the night also seems like something rather appealing.

Something about the whispers starts to take my attention.

Something about it seems off.

Almost like it was passing through the bench.

Tickling my ears softly to get something out of me.

And no footsteps follow.

The whisperer is bodiless.

I sit up only to find myself in the abandoned station, the rain outside is still going and no living soul other than me is here.

Well, 'living' soul... I've long stopped calling myself that.

This isn't living.

This is more like... surviving for nothing.