Straight through, no stops.

He sat staring out the window trying to see into the darkness beyond but the lights from the cabin only allowed him to see his own reflection. What had become of himself he wondered. Where the smoothness of youth had once been, now only a rough greyness remained. A bleak, rocky desert in the light of the moon.  

Life moved faster than he had imagined it would when he had peered into the future as a child. He always thought there would be more to come, some kind of build up that led to a pinnacle of life, a life worthy of remembering. Instead, all that was remembered was the mundane tasks of the day to day. 

Wake up, brush teeth, work, brush teeth, sleep. Day in and day out, the same routines repeated, the same uninspired thoughts, the same faces in the seats looking as grey and dissatisfied with life as his own. The woman across the aisle stared from the window also, probably thinking the same thing.

Where did it go? How did I end up riding this track of life backwards and forwards each day, no way off, no way to stop. To stop would be to give up and no good would come of it, to go on would be to continually face failure, and no good would come of it. A trap, that played on humanity, fight for survival in a life unwanted. 

Is there more to it, had he missed something, had he failed to grasp the meaning of his existence? Was there a meaning at all? What kind of cruelty would lead life to a live such endless monotony. If this was planned, it is a particularly cruel and unusual blueprint but perhaps it was only so for some. 

Maybe there are people out there who love life, live it fully and enjoy each and every moment they can. The lived the cola life, fun in the sun filled with value and joy. He couldn't even imagine it clearly, the concept seemed so alien. For him, life was cold, hard concrete worn down by my many feet repeated. 

If there is destiny, why must it be granted in such a way, why not give everyone the chance of joy, why enforce so much suffering on some and rub it in the face by broadcasting the images of the privileged on ever screen? 

The reflection swayed back and forth in the glass, a spectre reminding of days that passed by all too fast only to be left with the decaying mind and body of age. Where is the wisdom they spoke of that comes with age, why is he not smart enough to find a way out of this drudgery?

Is it attitude perhaps where life is not so bad, not disappointing to live and what he sees as depressing and grey, another may welcome as paradise. He could just be ungrateful for the life he leads instead of joyous that he has the opportunity to live one. But, where is the opt out option, as once in, there is no going back, that is the way the wiring works. 

Survive the grey, survive the pain, face the fear. It was the fear that was the greatest hurdle, the fear that this is all there is, there is no holy grail of life, no highlight that justifies the rest, that makes one feel that life really is worth living. He watched as lights in the distance slowly moved out of sight.

There is unlikely a point to this life he concluded. But then, if there is no point, why am I so scared to fail as there is no such thing as failure either? The train stopped and he rose from his seat. The woman opposite remained staring out into the night. One day, I hope to miss this train, perhaps another will offer a new life, he thought to himself.

Taraz
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