The cabin slightly shakes and waves according to the wheels that drive the train itself atop the railway, that is, if there is one.
His body is slumped over a white plastic or marble-like table that attaches to a window, faceting the exterior through an opaque lens of semi-sepia. Despite the light illusion of naturality, the exterior adds the para to the natural thereof. As the train apparently runs through a landscape of non-comforming identity, ever-shifting through a multitude of what you’d consider a “landscape”, through its consistent concept of landscape, it has an inconsistent format formed through an unknown means, could it be of its unfortunate subject itself?
With an amount of strength, he is able to elevate his body and face to an upwards position, and erect himself within the passenger train, arising from the sitting position on the red leather couch he was on. With his right hand, he pushes the sliding door down its rails, and opens way into the corridor.
He stumbles through the relatively thin corridor, clenching onto the wood with his clawed hands as he makes way to the end of the hallway. At the end of it, he sees a weird symbol. A perpetually developing symbol of some kind of weird geometry he can’t make out itself. He sees an inverted black triangle atop this weird symbol, and underneath it, an open burning white eye, almost as if these three created a sort of… sandwich?
He lightly touched the door and the symbol. The door stretched outwards and through it unfolded a new scenery of a small midsection between this car and the next one, beyond the guarding rails of the midsection was an empty nothingness, a ceaseless white. From the top and the bottom, he felt, though didn’t see, that The Storm existed. He spit downwards and slowly observed as his sight, better than the largest potency telescopes of the universe, simply witnessed his action fade away slowly, until it was too far away to be detected, a true emptiness.
He made his way through the midsection, and opened the door, this time what seemed to be a normal one, at the end of it. It led way into what seemed to be a kitchen/restaurant cart, on the center ran a small open line for people to pass through, to the right, there were seats with tables, and to the left, a bar. Behind the bar, there seemed to be a “person”, made out of a white shadow outlined by thin scribbled black outlines. His face, though almost unrecognizable, was of a mixture of horror and surprise, his voice, an echo through the mist, resounded:
“Y-You… How can it be!?”
