Post by Inkdrinker on Feb 23, 2016 4:16:14 GMT -5
I'm making a new thread cause my old one is dusty and gross and I don't want to look at it.
To start with, here's the expanded version of my arena story from the Strangers prompt.
There were four strangers on the train with me.
That, along with the fact that the train was heading south, were the only two things I was certain of. With the sun but a smear stain against a topaz sky, burning through the carriage windows, they were reduced to silhouettes—we all were, shadows of shadows.
I had woken up with my cheek squished against the window. In that position I could feel every bump in the tracks, every little vibration. I found peace in the chaos. Travel had always filled me with calm, even on board a plane in a storm or a ramshackle train through the jungle, I always arrived at rest. There was no shorter route to inner stillness than movement.
My sense of time had gone the way of the dodo. How many times had I fallen asleep, begrudgingly awoken, wondered these same things, then slipped back into a pleasant doze? While this was mildly unsettling, I consoled myself with the words of the Bard, whose dog-eared pages rested open on my lap. A dagger of the mind, a false creation, proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain... The words seemed to fit: the air, stale to begin with, cycled and recycled over and over again, ad nauseam. It clogged the brain like nothing else.
Our compartment was just big enough to be on the comfortable side of claustrophobic, like an exceptionally rich person's closet. It had two three-seat benches, facing each other, and a generously portioned window to my right, across from the door. Thankfully, I had secured a seat on the side with only one other person, so there was a healthy distance between us.
Someone once told me you weren't supposed to rub your eyes, that it was a bad habit and if you did it enough your eyeballs would fall out. While rationally I understood this was nonsense, I have never failed to think of it when my knuckles meet my eyelids. I pushed the thought from my mind with a chuckle and in doing so, I became acutely aware of the other passengers in my compartment. The peculiar lighting obscured their features, so I knew them by what they read: Paperback, Newspaper, Magazine, and my bench-mate, Hardcover.
At least they had the common courtesy to ignore my seemingly random laughter, in compliance with the unspoken golden rule of public transportation. Perhaps they hadn't noticed at all, though that seemed unlikely. I had desecrated our sacred silence, yet they remained defiantly unfazed, emotions hidden behind masks of stoic shadow and reading material. I could not recall exchanging even a single word with any of them since our journey began. Doubling down on my blasphemy, I decided to change that.
“Um, excuse me,” I paused to clear my throat, unsure of myself. “Would any of you happen to know how much longer it will be until we get there?”
“Get where?” said Paperback, cocking her head to the side.
“You know, er, the next stop.”
“Oh, I don't know,” she shrugged, returning to her book as quickly as she had been torn away from it.
“Not long now, I don't think,” Magazine chimed in, checking her watch.
“You said that hours ago,” said Newspaper, “it wasn't true then and it isn't true now.”
“Well, sorry for being an optimist, I guess,” said Magazine.
Hardcover was buzzing with energy, as if about to speak, but he remained silent. In fact, we all returned to silence for several moments, each of us looking down at our print but not really processing the words. There was tension, someone was going to speak, we all knew. But who would break first?
“Excuse me,” said Newspaper, getting up from his seat and moving towards the compartment door. There was room enough that he didn't actually have to squeeze past anyone, so his remark was based more on principle than anything else. He reached for the handle of the sliding door—his paper tucked under his other arm—and seemed to be having some trouble opening it. He jerked it around a couple of times in silent dignity, doing his best to look like he had wanted it to turn out that way from the start.
“Oh, uh, seems a bit stuck, eh?” he said finally, admitting his defeat. “Maybe it just doesn't like me. Can one of you give it a go? Maybe I'm crazy...”
Hardcover wordlessly rose from his seat, tried the door, shrugged, and sat back down.
“Are you telling me we're trapped in here?” said Magazine.
“Relax,” said Paperback, “at least one of us came prepared.” She got up and began to rummage through the backpack tucked under her seat. “Aha! Here it is.” She was grinning and holding a pry bar with pride.
“Why in God's name do you have a pry bar?” said Newspaper, flabbergasted.
“Do they even let you take pry bars on trains?” I wondered aloud.
“It's for professional and emergency use only,” she said, immune to our negativity, “and I'd say this qualifies as an emergency. What can I say? I always like to come prepared.”
“Professional use? What sort of profession are you in?” said Magazine.
“Oh, don't you worry about that,” said Paperback with a smirk, moving towards the door. “Here, let me.” She wiggled the door open just a crack and wedged the pry bar in. A moment later, the door was open, but we could not have prepared ourselves for what was on the other side. “There ya go! No need to thank me.”
“Yes, uh, right. Thanks...” said Newspaper, staring at the blackness of the outside. It was a complete, independent darkness, not merely defined by the absence of light; it looked as if we'd just opened the door to some pocket of empty void. “Huh, now that's a bit odd,” he added, helpfully.
“The lights are probably just off,” I reasoned halfheartedly, “saves power and all that.”
“I've got something for that, too!” Paperback always seemed so happy to help. She returned the pry bar to her backpack and did a bit more digging, coming out with a flashlight. “Here we are.” She clicked it on and pointed it out the door, revealing nothing. The darkness seemed to churn a little, but that was it.
“I don't think that's how trains are supposed to look,” muttered Magazine, “did it look like that before?”
“I don't remember,” I said with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, “I can't remember.”
Hardcover looked worried. His eyes were darting back and forth between the window and the door, the sun that never quite set and the beckoning void.
“Now, now. We don't need you making this situation any creepier than it already is,” said Paperback, approaching the darkness. Then, without the slightest hesitation, displaying frankly inhuman levels of courage, she thrust her hand into the unknown. There was a moment of swollen silence and then Paperback was gone, swallowed up by the nothingness. There was no scream, no struggle, just the moment before and the moment after
We remaining four were frozen and uncomprehending, with blinking eyes and mouths agape. The seconds, warped and distorted from shock, seemed to stretch into hours. Once again, Newspaper broke first.
“Did somebody spike my drink or did she just vanish?”
“No, she's gone, alright,” Magazine confirmed.
“Oh, Christ. Oh, Jesus Christ.” Newspaper messaged his temples as he spoke.
Wanting desperately to think about something—anything—other than the impossible truth before me, I turned my attention to the ever-silent Hardcover to my left. Though appearing defiantly blank to the casual observer, upon closer examination, one could read a solemn soliloquy imprinted in his every movement, with a simple two word refrain. Help me.
“Smoke and mirrors, that's all it is, just smoke and mirrors.” Newspaper was losing his composure, his tone frantic and unsure. “Here I... I'll prove it.” He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fingers into sweaty fists. “Smoke and mirrors, smoke and mirrors...” he muttered under his breath, a defensive mantra. With great apprehension and undeniable pride, he inched forward towards the door to nowhere. “Smoke and mirrors, smoke and mirrors, smoke and—” Newspaper was gone too.
As I watched the reality I'd been living in all my life crumble around me, I considered possible explanations. Maybe I'd been drugged, maybe it was some sort of gas leak, maybe I was simply going mad. None of these reasons offered any comfort. Magazine looked at the two of us, sullen and mellow, keeping our panic internal.
“What the hell is happening?” she said. “Tell me I'm crazy or I'm dreaming or I'm having a stroke or something, something, anything. God damn it, say something! You can't just shut down, I need help here. You can't just pretend that nothing is happening, I know you can see what I see. We need to do something!”
I sighed, combing my fingers through my hair like I always did when I was nervous. It was no good to retreat inside myself, as much as I wanted to. She was right, though Hardcover didn't seem any closer to coming out of his shell.
“Alright,” I finally said, “what should we do then?”
“I don't know, I don't know, okay? Maybe there's something in that bag, if she had a pry bar and a flashlight, there could be something else useful, a radio or something, we could call someone, those don't need cell service, right?”
“No,” I said, “a radio would probably work just fine.”
Like a hungry lion, she tore open Paperback's backpack, putting everything she found up on her seat. There was the pry bar, a set of lockpicks, a can of black spray paint, a balaclava, a couple of energy bars, and a hand-drawn map of some building I didn't recognize.
“I knew something was off about that girl,” she said. “No radio, though. What do we do now?”
“I guess we just wait until we get where we're going. Unless you wanted to climb out the window or something, but I wouldn't recommend it. We're in the middle of nowhere and even if you could get through the glass, you'd definitely break something, the speed we're going...”
“Waiting. Right.” Magazine sat down on the middle seat across from us, looking very tense.
I returned to my script, flipping to a random page. Things without all remedy should be without regard: what's done is done. Try as I might, my eyes kept getting drawn back to that one line, I read it over and over again, like a broken record. When I could take no more, I Leaned my head against the window, closed my eyes, and tried not to think of anything at all.
The train bucked sharply under me, knocking the window against my skull. I awoke instantly. The brightness of the reading light above me made my head hurt, so I reached up to turn it off. My heart skipped a beat when I saw them all sitting there. The silent boy sitting to my left, one seat between us, a hardcover in his hands. Across from me there was the man reading a newspaper, and next to him, the woman absorbed in her paperback with a backpack tucked firmly under her seat, and finally, the woman with a magazine, circling things here and there with a black sharpie.
Everything seemed so much more vibrant in the waking light. I could see all the details now, no longer obscured by the shadows of dreams. Colors bubbled and popped and my companions were proper people now, not merely the silhouettes they had been before. I could see Hardcover's beach-blonde hair, Magazine's lush red dress, Paperback's golden nail polish, and Newspaper's navy-blue business attire. Through the window I had a striking portrait of rolling green hills on the horizon, rising up from the scrubland. The sun was high in the sky, I guessed it was around noon.
“Excuse me,” I said, echoing the events of the dream, “does anyone happen to know where we are now? I think I fell asleep somewhere around Eugene.”
“Yes,” said Newspaper, “you were snoring. Quite loudly, in fact.”
“Oh,” I muttered, “sorry about that.”
“We're in California now, dear, to answer your question,” said Magazine. “Still a few more hours to go until we hit San Francisco.”
“Right,” I said, “thanks.”
“No problem,” she said, with a smile. “Actually, would you mind doing me a small favor?”
“Uh, sure. What do you need?”
“If you could just wake up? That'd be super.”
My heart sank to the pit of my stomach.
“I'm sorry, what did you just say?”
“I said wake up. Please, just wake up, would you?”
I felt sick, my head was spinning, it was as if my brain had liquefied, sloshing and churning around in my skull. I closed my eyes and held my stomach, doing my very best not to vomit. A moment later there was a hand on my shoulder and I flinched, reflexively opening my eyes.
It was dark again, twisted and off. It was Magazine who had touched me.
“I can't take it anymore,” she said, “I'm going to take my chances with the door. I've made up my mind, don't try to sway me. I just thought you should know, so you wouldn't be confused when you woke up.”
I nodded, still caught up in nausea.
“Okay, good. Here I go then.” She stepped forward with bluffed confidence, clearing her throat for extra effect. Each step was deliberate, treasured, as if she was marching to meet the headsman's axe. When her toes were almost scraping against the void, she paused and turned to look at me. With a bittersweet smile, a wave, and a nod of goodwill, she disappeared into the black.
And then there were two. I looked over at the ever silent Hardcover, he wasn't even reading his book, just staring at the page with unmoving eyes. Before I had been shocked, confused, now I was afraid, I could not stop shaking.
“Hello?” I said, choking on my words. “Will you talk to me?”
Hardcover was unmoving at first, but slowly he began to defrost, until eventually he met my gaze.
“Please?” I tried again.
He shook his head in a long, labored motion.
“Not even now?” My voice was quivering.
The boy offered a sympathetic smile, but the rest of him betrayed a much harsher truth. He got to his feet and stepped towards me, reaching out with a pale hand. I hesitated, taking a deep breath of air, colder and clearer than it should have been, as if we were outside now. It did nothing to clear my head. I took his hand, his grip like ice. He walked me over to the edge of the world.
“Is it time?” I said, without really knowing why, like an actor who knows the lines, but not their meaning. He nodded gently and gave me a look that I knew meant goodbye. Hardcover let go of my hand and let the darkness consume him.
Totally alone now, the compartment, as claustrophobic as it had been before, now felt oppressively large. Facing the void, the false sun at my back, the train rattling beneath me—it was all too much. There was nothing more to be said, nothing more to be done. I had a simple choice before me: an uncertain eternity, alone in a train car, or to trust in the unknown, and follow my companions. The answer was clear.
With a lump in my throat, I took the final step, into darkness, into light, everything and nothing all at once.
My body was found a few days later, by the side of the railroad tracks, in Northern California. I'd been sleepwalking, they said. That was the official explanation. They told my family I had died peacefully, and because I was asleep, I probably hadn't even felt the impact.
To start with, here's the expanded version of my arena story from the Strangers prompt.
Come Like Shadows
There were four strangers on the train with me.
That, along with the fact that the train was heading south, were the only two things I was certain of. With the sun but a smear stain against a topaz sky, burning through the carriage windows, they were reduced to silhouettes—we all were, shadows of shadows.
I had woken up with my cheek squished against the window. In that position I could feel every bump in the tracks, every little vibration. I found peace in the chaos. Travel had always filled me with calm, even on board a plane in a storm or a ramshackle train through the jungle, I always arrived at rest. There was no shorter route to inner stillness than movement.
My sense of time had gone the way of the dodo. How many times had I fallen asleep, begrudgingly awoken, wondered these same things, then slipped back into a pleasant doze? While this was mildly unsettling, I consoled myself with the words of the Bard, whose dog-eared pages rested open on my lap. A dagger of the mind, a false creation, proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain... The words seemed to fit: the air, stale to begin with, cycled and recycled over and over again, ad nauseam. It clogged the brain like nothing else.
Our compartment was just big enough to be on the comfortable side of claustrophobic, like an exceptionally rich person's closet. It had two three-seat benches, facing each other, and a generously portioned window to my right, across from the door. Thankfully, I had secured a seat on the side with only one other person, so there was a healthy distance between us.
Someone once told me you weren't supposed to rub your eyes, that it was a bad habit and if you did it enough your eyeballs would fall out. While rationally I understood this was nonsense, I have never failed to think of it when my knuckles meet my eyelids. I pushed the thought from my mind with a chuckle and in doing so, I became acutely aware of the other passengers in my compartment. The peculiar lighting obscured their features, so I knew them by what they read: Paperback, Newspaper, Magazine, and my bench-mate, Hardcover.
At least they had the common courtesy to ignore my seemingly random laughter, in compliance with the unspoken golden rule of public transportation. Perhaps they hadn't noticed at all, though that seemed unlikely. I had desecrated our sacred silence, yet they remained defiantly unfazed, emotions hidden behind masks of stoic shadow and reading material. I could not recall exchanging even a single word with any of them since our journey began. Doubling down on my blasphemy, I decided to change that.
“Um, excuse me,” I paused to clear my throat, unsure of myself. “Would any of you happen to know how much longer it will be until we get there?”
“Get where?” said Paperback, cocking her head to the side.
“You know, er, the next stop.”
“Oh, I don't know,” she shrugged, returning to her book as quickly as she had been torn away from it.
“Not long now, I don't think,” Magazine chimed in, checking her watch.
“You said that hours ago,” said Newspaper, “it wasn't true then and it isn't true now.”
“Well, sorry for being an optimist, I guess,” said Magazine.
Hardcover was buzzing with energy, as if about to speak, but he remained silent. In fact, we all returned to silence for several moments, each of us looking down at our print but not really processing the words. There was tension, someone was going to speak, we all knew. But who would break first?
“Excuse me,” said Newspaper, getting up from his seat and moving towards the compartment door. There was room enough that he didn't actually have to squeeze past anyone, so his remark was based more on principle than anything else. He reached for the handle of the sliding door—his paper tucked under his other arm—and seemed to be having some trouble opening it. He jerked it around a couple of times in silent dignity, doing his best to look like he had wanted it to turn out that way from the start.
“Oh, uh, seems a bit stuck, eh?” he said finally, admitting his defeat. “Maybe it just doesn't like me. Can one of you give it a go? Maybe I'm crazy...”
Hardcover wordlessly rose from his seat, tried the door, shrugged, and sat back down.
“Are you telling me we're trapped in here?” said Magazine.
“Relax,” said Paperback, “at least one of us came prepared.” She got up and began to rummage through the backpack tucked under her seat. “Aha! Here it is.” She was grinning and holding a pry bar with pride.
“Why in God's name do you have a pry bar?” said Newspaper, flabbergasted.
“Do they even let you take pry bars on trains?” I wondered aloud.
“It's for professional and emergency use only,” she said, immune to our negativity, “and I'd say this qualifies as an emergency. What can I say? I always like to come prepared.”
“Professional use? What sort of profession are you in?” said Magazine.
“Oh, don't you worry about that,” said Paperback with a smirk, moving towards the door. “Here, let me.” She wiggled the door open just a crack and wedged the pry bar in. A moment later, the door was open, but we could not have prepared ourselves for what was on the other side. “There ya go! No need to thank me.”
“Yes, uh, right. Thanks...” said Newspaper, staring at the blackness of the outside. It was a complete, independent darkness, not merely defined by the absence of light; it looked as if we'd just opened the door to some pocket of empty void. “Huh, now that's a bit odd,” he added, helpfully.
“The lights are probably just off,” I reasoned halfheartedly, “saves power and all that.”
“I've got something for that, too!” Paperback always seemed so happy to help. She returned the pry bar to her backpack and did a bit more digging, coming out with a flashlight. “Here we are.” She clicked it on and pointed it out the door, revealing nothing. The darkness seemed to churn a little, but that was it.
“I don't think that's how trains are supposed to look,” muttered Magazine, “did it look like that before?”
“I don't remember,” I said with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, “I can't remember.”
Hardcover looked worried. His eyes were darting back and forth between the window and the door, the sun that never quite set and the beckoning void.
“Now, now. We don't need you making this situation any creepier than it already is,” said Paperback, approaching the darkness. Then, without the slightest hesitation, displaying frankly inhuman levels of courage, she thrust her hand into the unknown. There was a moment of swollen silence and then Paperback was gone, swallowed up by the nothingness. There was no scream, no struggle, just the moment before and the moment after
We remaining four were frozen and uncomprehending, with blinking eyes and mouths agape. The seconds, warped and distorted from shock, seemed to stretch into hours. Once again, Newspaper broke first.
“Did somebody spike my drink or did she just vanish?”
“No, she's gone, alright,” Magazine confirmed.
“Oh, Christ. Oh, Jesus Christ.” Newspaper messaged his temples as he spoke.
Wanting desperately to think about something—anything—other than the impossible truth before me, I turned my attention to the ever-silent Hardcover to my left. Though appearing defiantly blank to the casual observer, upon closer examination, one could read a solemn soliloquy imprinted in his every movement, with a simple two word refrain. Help me.
“Smoke and mirrors, that's all it is, just smoke and mirrors.” Newspaper was losing his composure, his tone frantic and unsure. “Here I... I'll prove it.” He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fingers into sweaty fists. “Smoke and mirrors, smoke and mirrors...” he muttered under his breath, a defensive mantra. With great apprehension and undeniable pride, he inched forward towards the door to nowhere. “Smoke and mirrors, smoke and mirrors, smoke and—” Newspaper was gone too.
As I watched the reality I'd been living in all my life crumble around me, I considered possible explanations. Maybe I'd been drugged, maybe it was some sort of gas leak, maybe I was simply going mad. None of these reasons offered any comfort. Magazine looked at the two of us, sullen and mellow, keeping our panic internal.
“What the hell is happening?” she said. “Tell me I'm crazy or I'm dreaming or I'm having a stroke or something, something, anything. God damn it, say something! You can't just shut down, I need help here. You can't just pretend that nothing is happening, I know you can see what I see. We need to do something!”
I sighed, combing my fingers through my hair like I always did when I was nervous. It was no good to retreat inside myself, as much as I wanted to. She was right, though Hardcover didn't seem any closer to coming out of his shell.
“Alright,” I finally said, “what should we do then?”
“I don't know, I don't know, okay? Maybe there's something in that bag, if she had a pry bar and a flashlight, there could be something else useful, a radio or something, we could call someone, those don't need cell service, right?”
“No,” I said, “a radio would probably work just fine.”
Like a hungry lion, she tore open Paperback's backpack, putting everything she found up on her seat. There was the pry bar, a set of lockpicks, a can of black spray paint, a balaclava, a couple of energy bars, and a hand-drawn map of some building I didn't recognize.
“I knew something was off about that girl,” she said. “No radio, though. What do we do now?”
“I guess we just wait until we get where we're going. Unless you wanted to climb out the window or something, but I wouldn't recommend it. We're in the middle of nowhere and even if you could get through the glass, you'd definitely break something, the speed we're going...”
“Waiting. Right.” Magazine sat down on the middle seat across from us, looking very tense.
I returned to my script, flipping to a random page. Things without all remedy should be without regard: what's done is done. Try as I might, my eyes kept getting drawn back to that one line, I read it over and over again, like a broken record. When I could take no more, I Leaned my head against the window, closed my eyes, and tried not to think of anything at all.
The train bucked sharply under me, knocking the window against my skull. I awoke instantly. The brightness of the reading light above me made my head hurt, so I reached up to turn it off. My heart skipped a beat when I saw them all sitting there. The silent boy sitting to my left, one seat between us, a hardcover in his hands. Across from me there was the man reading a newspaper, and next to him, the woman absorbed in her paperback with a backpack tucked firmly under her seat, and finally, the woman with a magazine, circling things here and there with a black sharpie.
Everything seemed so much more vibrant in the waking light. I could see all the details now, no longer obscured by the shadows of dreams. Colors bubbled and popped and my companions were proper people now, not merely the silhouettes they had been before. I could see Hardcover's beach-blonde hair, Magazine's lush red dress, Paperback's golden nail polish, and Newspaper's navy-blue business attire. Through the window I had a striking portrait of rolling green hills on the horizon, rising up from the scrubland. The sun was high in the sky, I guessed it was around noon.
“Excuse me,” I said, echoing the events of the dream, “does anyone happen to know where we are now? I think I fell asleep somewhere around Eugene.”
“Yes,” said Newspaper, “you were snoring. Quite loudly, in fact.”
“Oh,” I muttered, “sorry about that.”
“We're in California now, dear, to answer your question,” said Magazine. “Still a few more hours to go until we hit San Francisco.”
“Right,” I said, “thanks.”
“No problem,” she said, with a smile. “Actually, would you mind doing me a small favor?”
“Uh, sure. What do you need?”
“If you could just wake up? That'd be super.”
My heart sank to the pit of my stomach.
“I'm sorry, what did you just say?”
“I said wake up. Please, just wake up, would you?”
I felt sick, my head was spinning, it was as if my brain had liquefied, sloshing and churning around in my skull. I closed my eyes and held my stomach, doing my very best not to vomit. A moment later there was a hand on my shoulder and I flinched, reflexively opening my eyes.
It was dark again, twisted and off. It was Magazine who had touched me.
“I can't take it anymore,” she said, “I'm going to take my chances with the door. I've made up my mind, don't try to sway me. I just thought you should know, so you wouldn't be confused when you woke up.”
I nodded, still caught up in nausea.
“Okay, good. Here I go then.” She stepped forward with bluffed confidence, clearing her throat for extra effect. Each step was deliberate, treasured, as if she was marching to meet the headsman's axe. When her toes were almost scraping against the void, she paused and turned to look at me. With a bittersweet smile, a wave, and a nod of goodwill, she disappeared into the black.
And then there were two. I looked over at the ever silent Hardcover, he wasn't even reading his book, just staring at the page with unmoving eyes. Before I had been shocked, confused, now I was afraid, I could not stop shaking.
“Hello?” I said, choking on my words. “Will you talk to me?”
Hardcover was unmoving at first, but slowly he began to defrost, until eventually he met my gaze.
“Please?” I tried again.
He shook his head in a long, labored motion.
“Not even now?” My voice was quivering.
The boy offered a sympathetic smile, but the rest of him betrayed a much harsher truth. He got to his feet and stepped towards me, reaching out with a pale hand. I hesitated, taking a deep breath of air, colder and clearer than it should have been, as if we were outside now. It did nothing to clear my head. I took his hand, his grip like ice. He walked me over to the edge of the world.
“Is it time?” I said, without really knowing why, like an actor who knows the lines, but not their meaning. He nodded gently and gave me a look that I knew meant goodbye. Hardcover let go of my hand and let the darkness consume him.
Totally alone now, the compartment, as claustrophobic as it had been before, now felt oppressively large. Facing the void, the false sun at my back, the train rattling beneath me—it was all too much. There was nothing more to be said, nothing more to be done. I had a simple choice before me: an uncertain eternity, alone in a train car, or to trust in the unknown, and follow my companions. The answer was clear.
With a lump in my throat, I took the final step, into darkness, into light, everything and nothing all at once.
My body was found a few days later, by the side of the railroad tracks, in Northern California. I'd been sleepwalking, they said. That was the official explanation. They told my family I had died peacefully, and because I was asleep, I probably hadn't even felt the impact.
