She woke up in a dark train car speeding somewhere. Outside, flashes of streetlights flickered by, and beams of light glided over the train, briefly illuminating parts of it before everything plunged back into darkness. On the floor lay a torn and deformed large sign with the name of some city. She flipped it over. “City of Chimera,” the sign was riddled with bullet holes.
This was the last car, swaying from side to side so violently that she had to hold onto something to keep her balance. Everything felt like a dream. Or maybe it was a dream?
Ahead, a light flickered. She couldn’t remember how she got there. But if she was already on the train, the first step was to figure out where it was headed. What was the destination of this journey?
The car suddenly jerked to the left, and she could hear the train crossing a bridge over a river. Stars were visible through the windows, the sky was full of them. The train straightened out and quickly sped along the track again. She walked to a translucent door, behind which a dim light was glowing, and opened it.
This car was packed with people, which surprised her because she hadn’t heard the noise before. Everyone was talking, each to themselves, without listening to or hearing anyone else. Men and women sat in the seats, while children ran wild, frenzied by the noise and chaos of the adults around them. Yellow light poured over their faces. She tried to ask where the train was going, but it was as though no one could hear her, and instead of answering her question, they began telling long and confusing stories.
In the center of the car, two people sat cross-legged in lotus position, their eyes closed. They faced each other, and on the table between them lay a book titled Buddhism for Beginners. Amid the noise and commotion, they sat, legs crossed, trying to ignore everything around them, as if believing that, like in childhood, if they closed their eyes, the world would cease to exist.
She tried to move forward, but as soon as she approached the door leading to the next car, people started blocking her way, much like during rush hour in a metro, when you push through the crowd to get off at your station. But this train wasn’t stopping; it was speeding up. The car suddenly tilted to the right as the train took another turn, scattering people to either side. Seizing the moment when no one was near the door, she slipped through and exited.
In the passage between the cars, she quickly shut the door behind her. The noise disappeared. It was dark and quiet. She pulled the handle of the next door.
It turned out to be a dining car. Small red lamps with soft light stood on tables covered in white tablecloths. Passengers sat back in their chairs, sipping cocktails as they waited for their orders. Soft music played in the background, accompanying their conversations. She sat down in a plush chair and looked around. A woman in a dark blue suit sat across from her, reading a book. The woman read aloud: “All is vanity and a chasing after the wind.”
Then she placed the book on the table under the lamp.
“Do you happen to know where this train is headed?” she asked the woman.
The woman looked directly into her eyes and replied, “It doesn’t matter where the train is going; what matters is where it came from.”
“And where did it come from?” she asked.
“From the place it’s going to now,” the woman answered.
She said no more and returned to her reading. The cryptic reply made no sense—just a play on words. Men and women continued their leisurely conversations at the tables, while the train picked up speed so much that the waiters, balancing trays, struggled not to fall as they navigated the aisle. They took orders and served meals, indifferent to the train’s destination. And while she pondered this, a mountain of plates and cutlery, filled with food, suddenly appeared before her.
The last chance to find out where the train was going was to ask the driver.
She stood up from the table and calmly walked through the car, opening the next door. This car was completely empty—no one in sight. “All the better,” she thought. “No one here would know anything either.”
She hurried through the car and opened the door to the driver’s cabin. As soon as she stepped inside, the door shut behind her. The cabin was dark, lit only by the faint glow of buttons on the control panel. The driver’s seat was empty. The train was moving on its own, at a breakneck speed, careening through turns as if it would soon derail and crash. This insane, driverless train had to be stopped. She began looking for a button labeled “stop,” but it wasn’t there. As she stared at the dozens of multicolored buttons, a man in a black suit burst into the cabin, pushing her away from the controls.
“You can’t stop the train!”
“Why not? It’s going way too fast—we’ll all die at this rate!”
“I know, but the train can’t be stopped. It’s in the manual. I guard the control panel, and I know the rules.”
There was a noise outside the cabin, and someone yanked on the handle, opening the door. For a moment, she saw a crowd of people gathered outside, pushing and shoving, trying to get in. The man quickly locked the door, but someone kept rattling the handle.
“The situation is dangerous. They all want to take control. If they get to the controls, they’ll start pressing every button, and then we’re all doomed,” the man said, looking at her. “The door won’t hold much longer. They’ll break through soon. See that green button on the left? If you press it, the train will stop.”
She pressed the button. The sound of iron wheels screeching could be heard.
