I close my eyes and the people vanish. The train continues to rumble and clatter, the crossings sounding as we pass roads. The wheels make the same comforting rhythm despite being on seamless tracks. The perfectly modulated voice continues to warn of doors opening and closing, and to give the stops along the route.
Is this real?
No information remains to verify either one way or the other – it’s all gone now. There’s no reference old enough to nay-say any assertion, to provide even experiential insights into how things have changed.
I open my eyes and the people return: I know they are real. I can talk to them, borrow their time. Hurt them. But the train is now different: there are five doors per carriage, not four. The signs proclaim different services, in different fonts and hues. The announcer’s voice is different.
But the people only discuss the weather, or the train schedule, or fashion. They seem stuck on ‘I don’t know’ when I move the conversation outside these empty topics. Am I real? I am the aberration. I cannot find the resolution to this position.
I remember something from before. There was a difference. I remember getting off the train. There were shops outside and things were… different. There was, something, different about
I close my eyes and the people vanish. The train continues to rumble and rattle, the signals chime as we pass the crossings. The wheels make the same soothing rhythm despite rolling on seamless lines. Maybe the wheels are not exactly round. The perfectly modulated voice continues to warn when the doors open and close, and which station we arrive at along the route.
Virtual or actual existence?
No verifiable information remains – it’s all gone now. There’s no data old enough to give a different version of events, no fact can be differentiated from the other. How do I know times have changed?
I open my eyes and the people are still there. I can interact with them. I can even hurt them. But the train is different somehow. The lights are a different hue, words in a slightly different font. The announcer’s voice is different.
But the people can only discuss fashion or the weather, or if the train is on time. I ask them about the next town, and they always say they don’t know, glancing at the map on the wall. They don’t know any other topic. Am I really here? I am the aberration. I cannot find the response to this urge.
I remember something from before. Something different. I remember getting on the train. There were shops. There was something, different, about
I close my eyes and feel the train rumbling along the tracks. The chimes doppler shift as we pass the crossings, and the calming rhythm of the wheels carries us forward. The perfectly modulated voice announces the doors that open and close, and the stations as we arrive.
Is this death?
There’s no data to confirm or deny. There’s nothing old enough to provide an objective perspective, and no way to confirm there may or may not be a limitation. How do I know the passage of time has changed?
I open my eyes, and the passengers are there, talking amicably about empty topics. I know they’re real, in some way, as I can talk to them. I even hurt one once and he recoiled in horror. How do I know that?
And the train has changed somehow. I know there is something different.The font and colour of the station names is, different, somehow. What is this place? Am I the only one who senses that something is different? I asked another passenger about the changes, and she said that she didn’t know.
How do I know that something is different?
I remember something from before, when I got on the train. Perhaps I should get off the train… but which station? I don’t know which station. There was something about getting on the train. It was different. There was something, different, about
I close my eyes and the people vanish. The train continues to rattle and clatter, the crossings warning as we pass. The wheels make the same comforting rhythm on worn tracks. The perfectly modulated voice continues to warn of doors opening and closing, and to give the stops along the route.
Virtual reality or is this actual existence?
The references are all gone now. There’s no information available to confirm any assertion, to provide even possible clues on how things have changed.
I open my eyes, and the people return: I know they are supposed to be real. I can ask them the time, borrow their pens. Argue with them. But the train is now different: there are three doors per carriage, not five. The signs proclaim different lines, in different colours and patterns. The announcer’s voice is, somehow, changed.
But the people only discuss shopping, or their dinner plans, or the time. They seem stuck on ‘I don’t know’ when I move the conversation outside these empty topics. Am I real? I am the aberration. I cannot find the evidence to validate this position.
I remember something, before. There was a difference. I remember getting off the train. There were businesses outside and things were… different. There was, something, different about
I close my eyes.