Tunnel Visioned

You damn near crash onto the train car’s grab handle, panting. Glance at the station’s scratched, seldom cleaned clock, its minute hand is nay a hair’s breadth away from striking the thirty-minute mark. Climb aboard as soon as you catch your breath. No reserved seating, any empty bench is fair game. Find one on the left. As soon as you drop into it, the conductor blows his whistle and steam hisses from the locomotive’s undercarriage as its pistons work to pull the consist forward.

You made it, not a moment sooner. Panting and huffing almost harder than the locomotive, you lean against the open window frame and let your heavy eyelids settle.

“Excuse me, mister! Tickets please!” The conductor’s stern voice jolts you awake. Your hands roam your pockets faster than your brain regains its bearings, finding the small piece of paper after passing the same pocket thrice. “H–Here you go, conductor. Pardon me.”

The conductor’s wrinkled cheeks tug up as he smirks, checking your ticket and stamping it. “I saw you scramble to this train like your tail’s on fire.” He hands your ticket back with a soft chuckle. “What’s a young fella like you in such a hurry for in that quiet little town anyways?”

You squint and rub your face, peering at the outside. “How far along has the train gotten, sir?” He flips his pocket watch open, clicking his tongue at the same frequency as the second hand. “We just passed the Lorraine Tunnel. Albrecht Tunnel is…fifteen kilometers.”

You nod. “How about the next stop?”

“That’ll be Darmstadt am Gelbbach, four kilometers after the Albrecht—you didn’t answer my question, mister,” he tilts his head, closing his watch. “Oh, do forgive me. What was the question? I…I didn’t catch it.”

The conductor sighs and lowers himself next to you, bracing on the front bench. “What exactly had you running like the devil himself was on your tail? Seven years I worked this line. Never seen anyone done that. Not in that quiet little town.” You shift in your seat as you process his question. He chuckles gently, raising his hand. “Excuse me if I come off as prying. I am merely curious.”

You rub your hands together. Lower your head, your lips weakly curving in the opposite direction. “Well, last night’s drinking didn’t do my schedule any favors, firstly. But uh, I…one could say I was fleeing from my own devils, sir.”

“Hm. Weighted answer for a young man. Something you could share with me, mister?”

You look towards his face. His shaded wrinkles carry history, likely as long as you’ve been alive. A history you don’t wish to pile yours onto, not right now. “No sir, it is not. Forgive me.”

The conductor bursts out laughing, stirring a few other passengers in their sleep. “No need to apologize for that, mister. We’re entitled to our privacy in this here country.” He rises from the seat, straightening his faded blue jacket. “Well, I’ll leave you to your own devices. May you escape those…devils of yours.” He tips his hat and starts walking away, then stops and turns around after two paces. “Or perhaps…they’re something you need to stop for,” he remarks quietly, almost to himself. “Safe travels, mister. Good day.” He turns around and walks again before you could reply.

Your head rests on the window frame again, trying to catch more sleep. Your eyes drift to the carriage’s interior lighting and scoff. The recent war means oil supply routes are still disrupted, be it crude oil or whale oil. This carriage was just retrofitted for oil lamps before the war, and now it’s back to candles.

“That cursed war. All for what? Three long years for a morsel of land in the northeast?” Your nails dig into the old varnished wood. Your gazing is interrupted by the glint of an old businessman’s silver ring, pointing towards the landscape while muttering something to what seems to be his wife. Or mistress.

“No, no, certainly not. It's the coin. It always comes back to the coin. Those greedy, snivelling sycophants we call businessmen will do anything for the damn things.” You fish out your wallet from your jacket’s inner pocket. Pull out a wrinkled banknote, stare at it, squinting. “Just how do you yield such power?”

You fold it between your fingers, resting your elbow on the window. “The power to raze lands, sink ships, take…” Breath catches in your throat, images flashing as a stark reminder. “Take away families. Men. Wives. Children.” Your eyes scan the cabin, spotting the few ladies travelling onboard. One sits at the very front right, next to the gangway.

She isn’t as covered as the others, long silky hair flowing freely over her shoulders. Clothing’s pristine white. Thin, too. Seems like her skin is visible through the fabric. You raise a brow, murmur to yourself. “Now what are you doing wearing that in winter? All the mud and cold must be a right bother for—” The lady turns her head, exposing her side profile. Your blood drops several degrees, shifting backwards in your seat.

“No…no, that—can’t be. Not…I must be mistaken.” Caught between avoidance and curiosity, you lean back and angle your head at the same time, trying to get a better look at the woman. “Wandering willows! Doyeon? Kim Doyeon?” Mouth babbles silence, fingers mapping wrinkles on your pants. Something caught in your throat and you cough loudly, tapping your chest.

The lady looks over entirely upon hearing it, her face displayed in full. You yelp and duck behind the front bench, hunching over. “No…how? How could she possibly end up…all the way out here?”

You spend the next several minutes tucked behind the front bench, peeking out once the train approaches the tunnel. Flinch back down. She seems to be frozen in that last position. The train enters the Albrecht tunnel and you feel a great wind upon you. Its strength is uncanny, blowing around loose dirt, papers and cloths. The cabin is plunged into darkness as the candles are blown out. And then it feels like your consciousness is being blown away as well, eyelids falling against your will, the deafening thrash of wind fading away…

“Excuse me, mister! Tickets please!” The conductor’s voice jolts you awake. You look around, you’re back to leaning against the open window. Brain isn’t hazy like it usually is after a nap. “Didn’t—” Throat is dry. “Did you not check my ticket sometime ago, sir?”

The conductor grumbles. “No sir, I did not. I left you for last ‘cause I didn’t wish to disturb your slumber. But I gotta check your ticket eventually, don’t I?” He chuckles and extends his palm. You find the ticket right away, seeing that it doesn’t have the conductor’s stamp. He takes it and gives it one.

“I saw you scramble to this train like your tail’s on fire.” He hands your ticket back with a soft chuckle. “What’s a young fella like you in such a hurry for in that quiet little town anyways?”

“Wh—” That question again. Didn’t you go through this already? Was that a dream? Didn’t feel like a dream. You remember it like it was mere minutes ago. “I…it’s not something I’m comfortable sharing as of yet, sir. Forgive me.”

The conductor laughs. “No need to apologize for that, mister. We’re entitled to our privacy in this here country.” He adjusts his hat and straightens his faded blue jacket. “Well, I’ll leave you to your own dev—”

“Wait! Where…where are we, conductor? How far along have we gotten?”

He flips his pocket watch open, clicking his tongue at the same frequency as the second hand. “We just passed the Lorraine Tunnel. Albrecht Tunnel is…fifteen kilometers.”

Your brows furrow, breath hangs heavy. “How about the next stop?”

“That’ll be Darmstadt am Gelbbach, four kilometers after the Albrecht. Plenty of time until your stop, mister. Get some shut-eye. I can wake you up if you wish?”

You look out the window. You’re not terribly familiar with the landscape, but it does seem like the same one you passed. “No need, sire. Thank you.”

He nods. “Very well. Anything else I can help you with, mister?”

There is something. It’s right on the tip of your tongue. What is it? “No, sir. Have a good day.”

“Likewise, mister. Safe travels.” He tips his hat and walks away. Your eyes follow him all the way to the front gangway and there she is. Same spot. Same questionably thin and pearly layers. Same…unmistakable spitting image of Kim Doyeon.

Keep your flappy mouth shut this time. Look away, don’t acknowledge her. Don’t acknowledge it. Act like nothing is out of order. “Just…coincidences. That’s it.” A glint from the front catches your eye. That same old businessman with the silver ring, pointing towards the landscape while muttering something to his lady companion of unclear relation. You swallow a dry gulp. “Disturbingly aligned…coincidences. But coincidences nonetheless. What did that N’dhia priest say that time? Dreams are windows into other worlds? Oh, wandering willows! Shut up, man!”

And you do. Head locked towards the landscape, which eventually gives way to the hills which the Albrecht Tunnel cuts through. The locomotive’s smokestack enters, steam puffs up behind it, then your carriage enters.

Winds surge through the interior again, not the sort that tunnels cause. Not this strong and loud. Not in this weather. Various light objects get blown around again. The candles blown out, cabin plunged into darkness. “No, no, no…” And your eyes. Your eyes grow heavy and begin shutting, ferrying away your consciousness despite your best efforts to will it still. The winds fade out, your body feels light—

“Excuse me, mister! Tickets please!”

You awake with an exasperated whine. “What on earth is happening?” You pant, eyes bouncing around.

“Well, as the conductor it is my duty to check your legitimacy as a passenger—”

“Oh, for—not that!” Your lash at the conductor turns a few heads towards you. Hers included? Don’t know, not looking. “Forgive me, sir. Here you go.” Your hands move on muscle memory at this point. He scrutinizes you for a moment before stamping the ticket.

“I saw—”

“Are you going to say something about me scrambling to this train like my tail’s on fire?”

He lets out a hum. “As a matter of fact, I was. Verbatim.” His eyes squint as he leans in slightly. You cut him off just as he reopens his mouth, “And…and, what about, um. Where are we? How far has the train gotten?”

The conductor leans back and opens his pocket watch. “We just passed the Lorraine Tunnel. Albrecht Tunnel is…”

“Fifteen kilometers. Nearest stop is Darmstadt am Gelbbach, four kilometers after it,” you murmur, completing the sentence in the conductor’s cadence. He scoffs, closing his watch and resting his elbow on the front bench. “By the Lord.” Leans in closer, his voice just enough to reach you. “You read minds, mister?”

You exhale a tight breath, your leg trembling. “No sir, I do not. Merely…confirming something.”

The conductor hangs for a bit before standing straight, adjusting his hat. “Well, I sincerely hope you received your…confirmation, mister. Safe travels.” He turns away and walks a few paces before you once again interrupt him.