The air in the train station was still. It flowed around the two of us like water before settling back to its original shape: full, yet nothing. The shuttered windows of teller stalls glared as we passed, muttering about being in places after hours. Overhead, the night sky burned with stars and galaxies through a glass dome.
Our feet thudded against the concrete in unison until we reached the platform. The dome ended at the platform, and the open air reached in and ruffled his long black hair. Moonlight shone against a hand studded with silver rings, btu disappeared into the midnight of his clothes.
We looked up at the empty schedule board.
“Did you miss it?” I asked. My voice sounded minute, with an edge like hope.
He shook his head. “Not this time.” He leapt lightly down onto the tracks.
“Will you be okay?”
Instead of answering, he turned to gaze down the track; it disappeared into velvet blackness. In the distance, a train whistle screeched and a tiny white light raced toward him. It grew bigger by the moment.
He faced me again, and said, “Looks like my ride is here.”
The train’s whistle blared, loud as a nightmare. Its light was almost close enough to touch.
He closed his eyes.
Everything went white.