Thursday, September 19, 2013

Wednesdays On the Train

Wednesdays on the train are weird. Low attendance. I'm not sure why. It doesn't make sense to me but I'm sure there is a reason. 

Wednesdays on the train are weird. Quiet. Like they intentionally make the Quiet Car a little more quiet through some sort of revolutionary new technology that will probably give me cancer.

Wednesdays on the train are weird. It smells different. Cleaner somehow. Like they spend Tuesday nights changing the air filters and cleaning the ductwork. Or maybe they just spray some kind of crisp air freshener.

Wednesdays on the train are weird. People seem sleepy and sluggish. They look drowsy and peaceful. Like they've been drugged. Like they've added an airborne substance to the HVAC system that pacifies everyone.

Wednesdays on the train are weird. The walls glow. They glow green, then yellow, then orange, then red, then purple, then blue, then green again. If you touch the walls you feel a faint pulse as if they are alive. 

Wednesdays on the train are weird. Instead of the regular Conductor, she is replaced by a man without a face. He has no features on his face, just smooth skin like a mannequin. Yet he is able to operate just like our regular Conductor. His stare is bone-chilling.

Wednesdays on the train are weird. The people who sit in the lower level slowly melt. First, their skin begins to melt and slide off until they are just muscle and sinew. Then the muscles slowly begin to fall away until we're left with a skeleton precariously holding in the internal organs. The organs then slide out and melt into a puddle at each person's feet. Suddenly, we hear a sharp crack and the bones turn to dust, fall onto the puddle of melted flesh, muscle and organs and soak it all up until no trace remains of the people on the lower level. When we pull into Union Station everyone suddenly reappears.

Wednesdays on the train are weird. The people who sit in the upper level are suddenly transported into the past where they are tortured by singing women in silken robes. They are subject to all manner of torture. Stretching, removal of fingernails, short bursts of high-pitched sound and blinding light, sleep deprivation, the stench of rotten cheese. When we pull into Union Station everyone suddenly reappears and all mail in their email inboxes has been deleted. 

Wednesdays on the train are weird. Everyone ages at twenty times the normal rate. The young become very old. The very old become even older yet do not die. Everyone shrieks in pain and ecstasy as they experience all of the future pain and pleasure they will experience in their regularly paced life on this accelerated schedule. When we pull into Union Station we are all swallowed by a giant blue squid.

Wednesdays on the train are weird. Maybe that's why the attendance is low. You know, because things are weird on the train on Wednesdays.

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