On Track

I run fast. Faster than the ones that try to catch me. Though it’s not like I’m a condescending being who would derogate someone’s ability just for their personal satisfaction. It’s what I do and how it works. Puncuality is key if you’re aiming to catch me. Be a little later than you should, and you’ll have your hand on your forehead regretting how you shouldn’t have overslept.

But believe me, once you’re on, the ride’s pretty smooth. Except for technical issues and highly noncooperative and inclement weather, nothing usually stops me. Pull my chains, and I’ll come to a curt halt. Be unreasonable as to why you did it, my authorities will come swoop you up to give you a lash.

Did I mention that I take you through the ups and down real smooth? With my cruising speed and the picturesque locations that pass by, even the longest duration of your commute will go by in a jiffy. I carry several others of your kind in me, whom you end up calling your travel buddies or end up becoming the occasional mortal enemies with them. Fighting over leg space and window seats, I find it extremely trivial, but as long as my interiors do not get filthy I’m indifferent.

I run on tracks built by someone of your kind. They change courses time over time and are hence what determine where I take you. The tracks make me what I am, since what good would a bulky, cumbersome, endless contraption do without lines to keep me contained, a purpose and space to run on?

So, sit by the window and enjoy the journey, or loathe over being stuck in the aisle seat. Either way, don’t forget to read between the tracks. I’m a train, and this is what I would say to the ones of your kind if I were abled like you all are.

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