Building 11 “Coming to Station”

Lately my mind seems drawn to the thought of trains. Maybe it is the Artist who has me thinking about it. I've been keeping up with her lately, talking at least every other day.

She seems to be doing better.

When I was younger and well into my adulthood, I would take the train all over the city, and used to take the train to the campus where I studied. That feels like such a long time ago, even though it really hasn't been so long. So much is different, yet so much is the same.

I was a young girl when I first took the train by myself. It isn't something that people thought about much back then, and I have continued to see that moment as a formative one. It was when I finally got to be by myself, when I was finally able to seek out my world and to grow.

In a lot of ways, it was riding the trains where I first began to develop my love of travel, and though I don't move much now, it is mostly because it feels like most of what I want is right here at home.
Except you.

I think a lot about the thought of me simply putting down all my responsibilities and coming out to you, to see you and to simply try again you know? Lately this life I have been living has been a little dark, and though I understand better than most what it means to be born and raised here, it is also true that anyone born on Wellington Street wants to escape it, if only some of the time.

When I was young, I heard about a story of a train in Japan that would only take one passenger, a little girl whom was going to school. They kept that line running, even though she was the only one who got on there, and only put the stop out of use once she graduated. Something about that story lingers with me, the sort of lingering that feels so dangerously close to a truth.

It is a single line, built merely to support one little girl. All the effort and the processing, and all so that little girl could get where she is going. And I think about Wellington Street, how little it is like that sometimes. So little of what it is, is about finding ways to make people feel loved and cared for.

We honor the dead, and we seek out ways to nurture and support the strange and the hurt. And when I think about that, it makes me think about all the people in my life.

Everyone is strange and hurt in their own way, though maybe around here it is a lot more clear as to why. The line is that people around here don't really know what is going on, but that simply doesn't track with reality. The legend of The Old Man, the Jingle, and so much more. The traditions that are passed down like the candles in the windows and the strange way that people will alter their routes home when the sun sets.

You don't hear a lot of it because it seems so ordinary to the people here, even though it may not be. Like, keeping a train stations open simply to support a single little girl is absurd, but also sweet. And yet here we are doing the same thing. We sit around and we live in this place where people die all the time, and we simply adjust out schedules around it.

We know there is evil here, and so we simply take it in stride instead of wondering why things are the way they are. Why would a little girl in Japan need a train to get to school? What circumstances shaped that situation?

It isn't enough to simply see the absurdity and adjust to it. Not till you are sure it is safe to do so, and around here it is anything but safe. We know that there are monsters here, even if we don't talk about it all the time. We share them like folk tales, even though we know that these things aren't legends.

And you would think that talking about these things like they are common would stop them from being scary, but nothing could be further from the truth. The reality is that this place and the houses that reside here are less places to house people, and instead it is a places to house monsters, and no one seems to fucking ask why the hell that is the case.

Better here than somewhere else I guess, but fuck. What the hell is bringing them here, why the hell are things getting worse? It isn't like it was a few years back when people were dying, but somehow, that was still a calmer time than what is happening now.

Or maybe I am the chaos looking for the storm.

I don't...I won't say that I don't have the answer because somewhere inside me I do know. It is simply something that is gnawing at me, like a horrible splinter that you can't seem to draw out of the skin. And when I try, and gods know I try, the sick thing is that it only manages to make me feel smaller.

Whenever I feel like I am getting my head around this, something else happens. This...these strange lights and the reports of things in the skies, the way that the people around here are noticing rot and seeing the blood seeping through...

Like that?! Why the hell did I write that? The Red is what the file said so why did I say it is something closer to bleeding? What is bleeding and why is it bleeding? That is what I want to know. And most of all, I want to know why it is all coming to a head now. Before, these stories were incidents, disconnected mostly from one another.

But that isn't the way it is now, and I just want to know the truth. And if I can't do that, I just want to see you. To get the hell out of here and never look back. I love this place, but it is a stretch of road that has something very perverse and awful supporting the whole damn thing.

I want to leave...

But I can't do that can I, not after what I found out about the connections between us. It isn't just about me anymore, and so I can't just turn my back on them or even on me. Because I still don't know why my body is so messed up, why I feel so damn disconnected all the time. I had night terrors when I was little, nightmares about monsters, but they were of monsters I now know exist.

And my brain...what really can the medication really do for all that?

So why....why am I still taking the medicine?