Summary: A journey in which reality is ever-changing, and nothing can be real for very long. Interpret as you will.

The girl smiled, silently, and glanced around the compartment. A soft, secretive smile. The music she had been listening to ended, as usual, and she moved slightly to press the play button again. A quiet, hauntingly sweet melody drifted over the sound of the engines, and the girl turned her head, every so slightly, to peer out of the small window next to her seat. She watched, transfixed by the clouds that flew past the airplane, eyes widening.

Something was coming, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the clouds. The pretty clouds. The white, no, gray, no, black clouds. Why were there black clouds?

She blinked, but didn’t make any other moves. If she stayed perfectly still, the thing coming into the airplane wouldn’t find her.

All of the other passengers, were they asleep? She stilled her breathing as much as possible, staying absolutely silent, but couldn’t hear over the beautiful music. It never occurred to her to turn it off. The music just was, it couldn’t change. Frightening, beautiful, familiar, yet not. Comforting, unsettling.

The smile had long since slipped from her face, the wonder in her eyes replaced by fear and uncertainty. She squinted at the inky blackness outside the window, realizing that she could no longer make out the shape of clouds.

Expression carefully blank, she closed her eyes slowly, held them shut, and took a deep breath in, silent as ever. A flash of bright light against closed lids caused her to jerk her eyes back open, but she kept her body otherwise perfectly still. The darkness outside the window grew lighter, then flashed bright, then returned to black. A moment later, it happened again, then again, a moment after that.

The same instant she became aware of the regular occurrence of the flashing light, the girl realized that she was moving. No, her seat was moving. The whole plane was moving, in a rocking, rolling motion, steady as the bright lights flashing by outside the window.

Plane? Of course this wasn’t a plane. The girl laughed inwardly, silently, and opened her eyes. She was on a train. She’d always been on a train, why had she dreamt of a plane?

She blinked against the bright lights flashing by on the tunnel wall, and wondered how long this tunnel could go on. And how much longer did she have to stay on the train? The music had ended again. She moved, imperceptibly, to press the play button, and felt a sense of déjà vu wash over her. When was this trip over? She had gotten on the plane—no, the train—forever ago. She was vaguely bothered that she couldn’t remember when, or how, but dismissed it.

Maybe she had missed her stop?

What was her stop?

Her eyes roved her compartment, looking for an answer. Everyone was still asleep, so still, so silent. She was glad she had her music to keep her company, to give her some sort of sound in this cold, breathless train. Or maybe it was the music covering up the sounds, because she couldn’t even hear the steady rumble that always accompanied a train. She squinted her eyes, listening for some sound.

There, a faint thunder. The sound of the bus engine, the tires rolling unceasingly down the highway. Puzzlement crossed her face for just a moment, before being masked beneath a vacant, wide-eyed stare. She didn’t move her body from its original position. If she kept still, like all the others, the thing boarding the bus? plane? train? wouldn’t get her.

A quick glance out of the window revealed an ebony void. She could still be in the tunnel, on the train, or was it a night-time plane ride, a late bus trip? The generic seats told her nothing, and the still people, sleeping, silent in oblivion, offered her no explanation.

Why couldn’t she remember where she was going? Where she had been? What was coming? It was cold, whatever it was. So cold.

Her nose was suddenly, startlingly chilled, and she saw a light billow of warm breath hit the cold air, silver among a dark exterior. Why was it so dark? Shouldn’t there be lights on the plane? The bus? Should she get up, try to find what was wrong? No, if she stayed perfectly still, silent, the thing wouldn’t get her. Wouldn’t get any of them, because the passengers all around her were still, too. But they were moving now.

Moving?

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone across the aisle slide back. The person’s arms weren’t moving, or legs, or head, but the whole body was gliding backwards, toward—what? The back of the train? Bus? No, it wasn’t the person moving, it was the seat. The whole seat was moving. Stiff, immobile, she watched as another person was rolled away, and another, as if by an unseen hand. The passenger next to her was gone, suddenly, and she was moving backwards in her chair, nearly in a horizontal position. How long had her chair been reclining so far back? Why hadn’t she noticed before? Had she been asleep?

Of course she had been asleep, she was in her bed. The girl lay quietly, listening to her music through headphones, not wanting to wake anyone else up. She wondered why she had woken up, so late, or early, whatever it was. She fought the urge to look at her watch. She must not move, or else it would get her.

Had she been dreaming? No, it was no dream, she was still in a bed, her bed? But rolling backwards again, like all the other passengers had before her. Above her was an unrevealing dark ceiling, and the usual compartments of a bus. Or was it a plane? A train? They all looked the same. They were all so cold, why was it so cold? And why was she rolling backwards?

She rolled her eyes as far back into her head as she could stand, but even in her prostrate position in the reclining chair, she couldn’t see further than the long stretch of ceiling above her. And she didn’t dare move, of course. It would get her, as it had taken the travelers before her. They were all going to the same place.

The air got icier, colder and colder as she glided along in the box. No, the chair? The bed? Close walls, soft, dark, informed her that it was indeed a box, albeit without a lid. Her hand was brushing one side. The same hand that held her music. The music was almost finished playing now, and she wondered if she should start it over again. For the third time? The thirtieth? She couldn’t remember.

Click.

The music stopped, and everything seemed to pause. She wanted to hear the music again, to block out the intense, frightening silence, but she was tired, so tired, and too cold to reach for the button. She blinked slowly, sadly, and felt a weight fall over her shoulder, a darkness descend.

The top. The top had been put on the box. She was trapped. In a box. It was cold, so cold, and her brain refused to process any other thought. She just wanted the music back, the music, the beautiful, pristine melody.

Perhaps she had been too quiet. So silent, so still, like all the other passengers. They were all the same, weren’t they? The travelers. All unknowing, unconscious the whole way. They had all met the same end, surely. And the girl knew it was the end. She accepted it. She had no wish to fight it, the fight was too tiring, and it was so cold. This was it. No music, no movement, just this cold, still silence. She closed her eyes, let out a quiet breath. A lone tear traced its way down her face, then stopped.

Frozen.

And all was still. All was silent.