One ticket to Hull, please.
I must be going to hell. It made sense now. I had inadvertently clambered aboard the wrong train and was careering toward Hades. Any attempt at escape would be futile; they don’t let you off the Hell Express. The doors would be locked tight, the windows unbreakable, and even if you could get them open; the waterfall that was cascading down them was so severe that you’d drown immediately. My fellow passengers on the Satan Shuttle appeared at ease with their fate. I was floating in a pool of my own sweat, breathing erratically, gibbering nervously in my seat with my eyes dancing about their sockets, trying to take in everything at once. All the while they casually piped music into their heads, read their newspapers, or slept peacefully. The vicious bastards.

I managed to fight off the temptation to slide from my seat and cower beneath the table. Largely because the features of the man opposite me seemed to be turning ever more demonic. I couldn’t look directly at him, but my furtive glances revealed horns beginning to protrude menacingly from his forehead and his skin was turning an unnerving shade of red. The conversation taking place behind me warped slowly into serpentine hissing, and I could feel their forked tongues wrapping themselves around each word before flicking them out into the ether. All of a sudden the lights stumbled, then fell; plunging the carriage into darkness, before a deep red glow rose from beneath the seats sending gruesome shadows up the walls, where they entertained the other condemned souls with a jaunty dance that seemed to mock my fear with its nonchalance. The red light signalled the approach to the gates of hell and our final destination.

“Tickets, please.” The conductor’s voice cleft the air and threatened to split my head with its sheer power. I failed to find the strength to highlight my error and offered up my ticket with a shaking, sweaty hand. There was a brief battle as I refused to relinquish custody of the ticket, but the conductor quickly won, punched a hole in it and flung it back towards my pathetic face. That was it. My only chance to reverse my mistake and I’d been too weak and useless to take it. I still couldn’t see out the window, but could feel the train begin to slow down. Here we were: hell. I didn’t even bother to fight against it. There was no point. I just stood and filed out of the train with everyone else. Too late to turn back now; I closed my eyes, held out a leg, allowed myself to plunge from the train and collapsed into a broken heap on the platform.

I opened my eyes and the proximity of the window caused me to jump and smack my head against it. The other passengers weren’t keen on my language, but that was the least of my concern. I could just about make out a platform beyond the window waterfall and squinted enough to see Swindon station rolling away. I was on the train to hell after all, I just failed to get off in time.
( Moey, Thu 3 Jul 2008, 15:44, Reply)