To the Ground

The Light Train's engine is only as corporeal as it is perceived, she quickly finds out.

As she stumbles to the rear of the caboose, trails of ultraviolet light leaking from the peeling paint, as the train plummets to the landmass below, she spies another passenger. No- THE other passenger, she realizes. The other passenger, whose naked, shivering body huddles under a grate, murmurs unintelligibly until she turns its face upward. All according to plan.

The Light Train is falling. She, perched ever so precariously next to the other passenger, whose clouded eyes see naught but her soul, steadies herself, though the wind howls outside the windows. A minute to go, maybe? The other passenger blinks wetly. "You are my first trial, then?" the girl says, her voice trembling. The other passenger rasps, "Are you the girl from Tokyo?"

It is the last word that snaps her back to the train's movement- down into the earth. She glances around wildly, but the other passenger remains silent. She is not repulsed by it, just made uneasy. "Yes," she whispers, but because the train's roar masks her reply, she repeats, her voice stronger, "Yes!"

"Then we must be off. Stop the train." The other passenger says, its voice somehow even raspier then before.

"I can't stop the train," she replies, her eyes darting around the caboose, looking for an "Off" switch. "Then we will die," the passenger says calmly.

"No, we can't die! I can't die!" the girl says, nearly screams. "You will die," the passenger replies. She shakes her head, faster and faster as the train plummets, but she comes to a rest suddenly. "I- I will die," she concedes, and the train's descent abruptly stops. "Then welcome," the passenger says, "To your next Trial. On to the place of mirrors."