A horn long since muted rides the high winds, above the now open locks and twisted paths. It demands no presence, only wishing to blend back into the norm. But I look up. To the air which it lingers, over the height of a distant city and looming clouds; the early winters sunrise, and sky deep blue to black, but still stained gray. A mark never to be forgotten.

I turn from pebbles to a narrow, beaten dirt. The new crop grows passed the slope on either side, and the wires run overhead on wooden stilts. Amidst the low willows and brush ahead, a single building stands, a speck behind the rolling green.

The dust stirs as I step over dry land. In the rising light, the posts cast a motionless reflection in mirrored water, and a long shadow in my path.

My vision fades darker, and my neck snaps back. I look up, the stones now peaking over the hill.

Looking higher still, the gathering gray shows unveiled. I clutch the hooked rod tighter in my palm, picking at the button on its strap, as I make the turn up the steps.

There’re rows of old stone. Flowers, ashes, and names. At the end, one final aisle of spotless marble.

The sky opens upon longstanding crevices, as well as those yet to be dug. And leaning lifeless against a special marker, the coming shower’s drizzle lands on a girl’s shut eyes, pooling up where where the emptiness dries.

I step closer, pebbled steps quieter than the breeze. Kneeling in front of her, she still does not move. My fingers wave over her sleeping eyes. There’s a strain in my back as I take in the winter air.

I open my umbrella, and balance it on the stone, over the girl’s head. Then I fold over, on the chilled smooth marble, I lay down my head. And around the memoirs of the passed, my eyelids flicker, as the rain drips on my shoulder.

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There’s a large room at the far end of the bottom hall. Worn wooden boards lined the walls in elegant fashion, and the floor much the same. Above hung crystal lights. But drifting aimlessly through the morning haze, a sea of dust. And wasting away in the center, a tall black box.

Underneath it’s cover, lied conflicting shades, like the games we played, only there was no opponent. What would things look like now, perhaps, if we’d spent our days on that other chest of black and white? I wonder if it still awaits us, in the wake of burnt flames. Or if like the shards of glass since healed over, it now only sings in silence, remembering the days before, and never to be whole again.

My sleepless legs are nudged up by the ascending floor as it comes to a stop. The silver doors open to either side.

When the few others move out, clearing the view ahead, we’re greeted by a high open ceiling, the panes shedding a rising sun through the white grid beams. Rows of not half-filled seats accompany the patient agendas of those going about their regular lives.

We file our way through an empty line, greeted by a young man in the familiar white attire. It’s beginning to get tiresome, standing on the other side of the desk.

Our banter goes through one ear and right out the other. Following the trail beaten by the accustomed conversations, I ask the questions I came to ask, all the while watching as the hazy divide of light and shadow slide across the counter.

Arriving at the fifth of nine loading bays, I stop upon the rows of benches back to back. My eyes are to the ground, away from the blinding sky and troubled stare. Claire takes our free reign of empty chairs, seating herself directly in front of the stairwell. I sit next to her. Above the steps leading down to the rails hangs a sign of pixeled lights. Just three numbers and a long list of blank times.

With only the stations echoes and a waking city to keep me company, I synchronize my breaths with the blinking of the colon, as the awaiting digits ever so slowly approach the ones above.

As the minutes pass, and then the hours, there’s no sign of attention from my short-lived partner. No short glimpses of mine returned, or even noticed. She only looks beyond the walls, burning a lonely hole through the screen. Neither anxious nor distressed, her back remains relaxed, pressed up against the bench. A newly replenished bag wedged between her feet, and arms perfectly still in her lap. It’s impossible to tell what’s on her mind.

Waiting seems to take all of someone’s mind, I’ve noticed. As the clock ticks closer to the arrival of the bullet to unknown lands, the look in their eyes was and will always be the same. Just as will the mundane fascination of destination capture there hopes, like it once did with the two of us.

From the edge of my fixed view, a figure in white enters, walking calmly towards the center of my sight. Upon reaching the gate, she pushes it aside, adjusting her cap as her head descends below the shadows. I glance up at the time, and all at once, a warning call rings throughout the hall, heeding the attention of the zero other people whose line is soon to arrive.

As the message comes to an end, I notice a weak grasp, tugging on my finger.

As I look to Claire, hunched over and almost ready to cry. But it’s under my eye that a droplet rolls. Not tears of parting but for lessons learned.

I can only nod, at a loss for words.

And as the final minutes flutter away, the past weeks run through my mind. But it comes not diverging at its end, rather the pieces fall into place around me, as the pendulum aligns with the clock.

It’s the piercing scream of shattered windows that hits me first. Then the strike of blaring alarms, the hammers wailing on the bells. The ground beneath rumbles.

My head moves my frozen line of sight to the tug on my shoulder. It’s Claire. She stands now, holding my arm with both hands, pulling with an unwavering urgency. My gaze rises, and I see the terror in her eyes.

Bellowing into the sky is a rolling blackness.

The people around us scramble in panic. Their paths cross one another, only their feet to decide where to run.

Claire mouths her cries, as I get up from my seat. The people still scatter, funneling along the directions of those in white. There’s nothing else that can be heard over the alarms. But it’s suddenly overtaken.

The floor roars like a wave through stone, knocking the two of us back to our knees. From the buildings rear, the ocean’s currents follow behind, slamming the foundations over and over, as the pillars beneath are shattered. I look back, pushed by the inherent urge to watch the terrors unfold.

The wall unhinges from the roof. It begins to collapse, but before I can see it play out, a cloud of dust rises from the base upon which it falls, swallowing the fires and the blackened sky.

My sight swivels on track. From the terminal to the side, smoke and sand spews from its entrance. The hand of a brave silhouette waves us the way out. A rising gray envelopes his signal. But in my last glimpse, there’s a crack louder than it all. A ripple shoots through his body. His arm stops. The dust darkens, and the black shadow falls.