As the train station neared, the lackluster man, as pale as the ashy snow around him, limped in the direction of a cold metal bench. His draping beard, now satiated with snow, no longer seemed to bother him. His shuddering hands no longer allowed him to feel, as has been for days. As lifeless as he now was, the closer he got to the station, the more thoughts left his mind. Dreary and boring, he was a raw husk of whatever had died within him, whatever had rotted within him. Whatever it may be, it certainly did not go unnoticed. Like a lever puzzle, the ending of one nurtures the upcoming next. He was on a one-way trip to wherever, and he did not cheer nor mourn about it.

         Nearing the station, he noticed a short old woman waiting before him. She was cryptically covered in garb; you could not make out any of her features. Unbothered, he began to languish, and soon fell asleep on the cold, metallic bench.

         Abruptly, the asphalt road rumbled beneath, and the light of a train soon followed. The train was arriving. The old woman began to approach the incoming train, her feet leaving unusual black marks with each step she took. She walked next to the huddled arctic willows, but insistently through the lounging winter daisies, sullying the last bits of beauty for acres to come. This scene, drained of hue, smelt a different kind of air, one that preserved life, but not spirit. Flesh now truly looked like flesh, very distasteful, pale yellow in the rotting scene.

         The man remained oblivious to the train’s approach, and if not for the screeching wheels grappling with the rusty-and-marred tracks, he would have remained behind. The train slowed, and eventually stopped, so by that, one could begin to make out the sound of the train conductor. He let a fervent cry to hurry both of them aboard. With a bottle of vodka half empty in one hand, the other hand scratching his bald and wine-red head, and with a bad-tempered face, he seemed an unhappy man. The old woman, unfazed, disregarded the remark and continued her walk. Now awoken, the man had a spark of life-an ounce more than before-within him, and began to foster a perplexed expression, not for the trivial conductor, but something else.

         As the only two passengers boarded the rusty train, the trivial fellow, clearly drunk, and with a raised brow higher than his sense, ticked his tongue at both, and immediately shrugged his dizzy head impatiently to the opposite direction. Five seats behind the woman, the man settled, and before the train resumed its travel, he plucked a pen and a slightly crumpled yellow paper out of his dusty pocket. He proceeded to lay the old paper on his knee, and seemingly done unconsciously, he flung his pen and began writing with charming speed. It was his dream. For the abrupt minutes he spent slumbering on that cold bench, he had experienced a dream he felt was worth recording.

         I was a baby, cradling in an old wooden cradle. It was barely hanging together I could tell. It had burn and chipped marks all around it. The room I laid in oddly had an almost entirely missing ceiling. It was not by design of course, it was the victim of an aerial strike, most likely two years ago because of the war (I do not know who or what relayed this information to me.) The debris collected around me bothered me more than it should have. I was unreasonably anxious from it, and at this point the entire setting had me screaming to get out; this room’s apparently innocent intentions frightened me. I began to feel the walls laughing at my pitiful situation.

         I heard the faintest whispers of footsteps arriving outside of the room. To my surprise, an expressionless man opened the door and stepped inside. His eyes were so cold, I began to question his anthropomorphic form. He lifted me with warm, parental arms, and startlingly, he threw me out of the open window behind me. Why he would do such an unspeakable thing to a baby so innocent flew past my mind.

         My time in the air, outside the window had slowed down. I did not know where I was      falling into or where I would land. However, that was far from the strangest thing. Was this a divine window I fell out of? Or was it from smelling this outside air? Was it by gazing at the gold and blue heaven above me? For some strange reason, I was completely content with life at this moment. The thought of my approaching crash did not bother me, in fact it peaked my imagination. I began to think about the possibilities of where I was plunging into. Was I to crash into an open field of endless lilies? Then I would embrace a few and carry on my venture down the yellow field. Was I to slip down a crevice of Earth, and find myself at the gate of the fiery home? Then I would knock on and greet Mephistopheles. But I did not do either, I could not. I was awoken from this curious scene with bleeding ears and made my way to the awful train.

         As he finished his little letter to himself, the man tossed his head to the side to watch the boring land. The dead trees scattered about suggests this soil had once a life to it, but now it’s as fruitless as the rest of everything surrounding it. This land has a knack for dulling its viewers, the terrain of woe, so stale and sickly.

         In an instant, the man’s eyes changed color, from ill black to brilliant black, he caught sight of a misty bird, grey and yellow, slipping through the lifeless air, dancing joyfully, across its never-ending finish line. Plummeting from high lengths and catching himself into open arms, he soared despite the treacherously cold weather, he rubbed his feathers past the freezing currents of wind, a tail of wind formed from his great speed, and it gave off a visual whistle as it scraped off his olympic back; the snow tinged his energetic feathers with glazing-white crystals. He watched this bird perform its play for him, he watched carefully. He felt ashamed of how pathetic he was compared to this bird. He longed for a life rebirthed into a bird, but he knew he would not be so great as that one. He stared at it for as long as it was in sight. But every few minutes, he would gaze at his battered shoes, his eyes would once again become ill, but also back whenever he lifted his head.

         He was leaking despair that would trickle down the seat and drop to the floor. The old woman perked her ears at this sound but did not act.

         The man was eternally caught in seconds which lasted two seconds each, and each one he spent within himself, gravedigging and metal digging for answers. Eventually, he tilted his head back, and rested it on the seat, he dozed off to sleep again, this time he had the whole trip to recuperate. Though, he was in too much chaos within himself to catch a sweet dream. He shut his weary eyes, and in no time he found himself in an unpleasant situation. He did not recognize that he was in a dream.

         What is this rubble? Where am I? I’m in some sort of tunnel, and I can see the eventual end of it, though it’s not too bright in here or out of it.

         He began to make his way across the rocky floor, it was made of big rocks, half his size, some were. He had an anxious feeling while he roamed across the rocks. He did not recognize anything around him that he could see. But it did not take much for him to cross over to the open-aired side.

         My God! What heights this peak reach. Where am I to go to now? This runny water from the river does refresh me, but where do I go? Look! This peak has both night and day in its length.

         As he took his steps out of the tunnel, he noticed a river and a very tall mountain staring above him. The mountain had an odd light behind it. The closer part of it by the ground had the night sky behind it, while the higher it got, the more it glowed with golden light. He was by the river, at the starting point of the tall mountain, and it was clear, not only to him, that he ought to venture up. But who would blame him for looking to find another path to travel down?

         Down the left side of the river, sat a crawled-up person. It was the old woman, the one from his waking life, she had pursued him, down to the depths of his psyche.

         How horrible! She sits rocking back and forth in muddy garb, who is she waiting for?

         “Young man”

         “Yes? Why are you sitting by yourself? Are you waiting for someone? I would like to know, if I may, where I am.”

         “Don’t worry, come closer, I will inform you.”

         I walk over to, and immediately I recognize her. It’s that old woman, what in the devil is she sitting here for?

         If that wasn’t all, she almost succeeds in plunging at me and attacking, but I narrowly escape her. She is much too agile for her age, and very cunning. She did not tell me anything but that she’s dangerous. I ran directly back and away, and I managed to escape her sight, and her from mine, but I cannot find another way out of this place, but by climbing this peak.

         After his interaction with the strange old hag, he finds the climb much more pleasant than decay at the bottom.

         The man ascends a few feet, then he looks back down, and from the tunnel he left, leaves a familiar fellow.

         Is he not the man who threw me off the window? What cruel land I am bearing through. If it is not enough to clutch these rocks up for a long time to come, why must I bare his lifeless presence? And God the woman too, I see her peeking at me with those covered eyes, tell me how does she see me?

         The two pillars he is above, they can not follow him, but he is not aware of it. Only if he descends can they pluck him down and do as they wish.

         The man looks up, and he is delighted, he sees the same bird which has traveled alongside his train, it’s enjoying the peak of the mountain, whistling a song of spirit that echoes down to the river below. But, why is it that the man is unsure of his actions? He can not choose to side with the obvious choice: to keep climbing for the light. He looks downward, toward the muddy, dark, yet warm and familiar river, and a look upwards, a dangerous height, filled with pain by its journey, but it has the caressing rays shining on it, light filled with life, and with it the bird sings. He can not choose confidently, and his mind is clouded.

         What painful purgatory this is, I’m stretched by both sides and cannot make a judgement. Have I decayed so much that I cannot choose between heaven and hell? The muddy water, or the majestic bird?

         “Come down here, young man.” She spoke faintly again, but I could hear her still.

         “For what reason?”

         “You cannot continue upwards, it will strain you, poor man.”

         “My ache shall retire by my last step to come, don’t you think?”

         “Poor, poor, and by when will that step arrive, give a rest, I will make sure you won’t cripple if you drop now.”

         “Lay off, you tried to wound me, you hag!”

         “For what reason? You never asked.”

         “Go on then.”

         “Come down, so that I may show you.”

         I have stopped listening to her, for my fright is caught up to me. The man is still below, staring at me, just what is he? What does he want, if anything?

         Look, he looks like he’s about to speak!

         “Hey! who are you!”

         He’s changing his expression. What’s that? That’s… a smirk?

         Lord! What hell am I in? I’m too weak to carry on, but why must my fate be with the ‘gators below? It’s an awful image of them peering into my every muscle, I cannot ascend.

         Completely, he was tired. But if not for one an audible chirp heard from above him, he would have dropped his last fingers.

         I don’t know who this bird is, but its flight is so charming, I want to do nothing more than fly toward and with it. How can I sprout my wings? My fingers have reached their limit, they can not pull any further. If I’m to make it up to the bird, then let me fly.

         The man, like a knight of faith, leapt off the mountain, and sprouted angelic wings that glistened from the heavenly shower of light above. He flew and plunged himself into the dark winds nadir. His fears shook off like the winds slipping from his bare skin. He shot himself upwards and called the bird so it could hear. The bird chirped and chirped again, and the man now knew why: who wouldn’t from height this tremendous?

         Have I reached Heaven? If so, the gate was an odd one, bare rock, and steep at that, it’s quite the entrance. But this is not heaven is it?

         “Of course not.”

         “Who are you?” I did not speak aloud, it’s an old man, crouched on the mountain, he had dusty black and grey apparel.

         “That I cannot answer. But it does not matter either. You do not know where you are?”

         “Yes, I will presume you do?”

         “Don’t you think you should check the bottom?”

         “Are they still below? I cannot deny it, even with my wide wings, I hesitate to fly near them.”

“I know that, but you must dust your wings near them if you truly seek the answers you’re asking. That’s enough chatter, go on, drop down.”

         The man steps foot on the mountain, approaches the edge, then jumps far as he slowly opens his wings to descend. His heart beats with a rhythm silencing all other sound, the sounds of the bird still singing, and the sounds of the running water below.

         Where did this couple run off to? I can’t seem to find them.

         “My my, how rude.”

         “Where are you?”

         “Just down here.” Her voice came from inside the tunnel.

         “You and the man next to you, who are you? I’ve come down, to seek my answers.”

         “And you’ve come well, I’m afraid, I have nothing to say to you, neither does he.”

         “What? What’s that about?” I approach the two of them-ones who frightened me so much before-and I move my arms to touch them.

         They’re rock solid. They’ve petrified. They remain with their same forms, but now, they’ve hardened.

         “What are you doing?”

         Both remain silent. Is this it? I still don’t know who they were, did they know who I was? Why have I become so friendly to this land? Just minutes before I was crawling for my life, and now I feel for this place.

         The man finally has woken up. It took him a few seconds to realize that he is awake, and what’s more, he has just now realized that this was entirely a dream as well. He looks toward the window again, it’s dark out. He has slept for hours it seems. The bird was no longer there dancing like before, that did not bother the man for too long, because he also remembered about the woman as well.

         Was she still here?

         At first, he was ready to gaze over the seats ahead of him at any time, but then angst caught on to him again. He was nervous to look over. What could possibly be sitting five seats ahead of him? His mind ran in circles looking for answers, but not ready enough to find the real one. What if she was still sitting like before, when they both mounted the train? Then, would he go and question her? Or would he just watch from his distance? Also, what if he glances over and she is staring back at him? What then? Would he speak up? Or would he scream in shock? Well, either or, he could not simply think about it anymore. He was ready for whatever outcome, or so he thought to himself.

         As he pops his head up to face her, he doesn’t find her. Where was she sitting again? He stands up and scouts the rows, none in sight. She was gone.

         Where could she have left to? After all, she was only in his dream. He approached the train conductor to question him about her.

         “Hey, sir, did the old woman already take off?”

         “Who the hell are you? Go sit back down!”

         “I’m only asking a question. Did the old woman drop off already?”

         “The hell are you on about? You are the only runt on today.”

         His heart dropped when he heard him finish that sentence, like shattered glass, his beliefs fragmented.  Is he turning crazy? Or is he just now sobering up?The train is almost stopped. Whatever those dreams meant, they gave him a play he can emulate. The man walks from his seat now to the exit of the train, his upper eyelids droopy from the long sleep, and he leaves for his home, where he can rest from his long night, into sweeter dreams, this time for sure.