Runaway Train

As I mentioned before, I recently found a lot of  old story ideas and notes. The following is written from some of those notes. Although I don’t remember exactly when I wrote these notes, I remember the feelings I had at the time, probably because they were familiar to me. I knew I had to stop what I was doing and do a rough draft. At that time, maybe that’s all I needed to do.


Am I dreaming? Who is that strange woman looking at me from the mirror? It can’t be me. Only a year ago I was but a laughing, happy child, playing childish games and dreaming childish dreams. I hadn’t a care in the world but a desire for mother’s love.

What is that strange woman doing in my life? It can’t be me. Only ten months ago I reached puberty, though most of the world still considered me a child. But there was one who looked at me lustfully as if I was a grown woman. He forced himself on me and my whole foundation shifted. I felt like I was in free fall.

How did this strange woman get into my body? It can’t be me. Only eight months ago I was in high school, with hopes and dreams of the future, of escape. But the engineer in charge had other plans for me and the train jumped the track. Was I killed in the crash? Is that why I got so cold, why I can’t feel anything?

Whose hands and arms are these reaching out? They can’t be mine. Only six months ago I was a vibrant young woman, determined to enjoy life. But there was a lot of fog surrounding me and I got on the train headed to Hard Knocks. Nobody bothered to tell me I was on the wrong train. Nobody seemed to care. How long will it be before it stops?

Whose legs are these propelling me forward through life? They can’t be mine. Only four months ago I was at peace with myself and God; all was right with my world. I didn’t see the shadow creeping up behind me. What’s that knocking I hear? I wish someone would make the noise stop. It’s making my head hurt.

Whose eyes are those examining me? They are dull eyes, full of pain, sadness, and misery. They can’t be mine. Only two months ago I was finally on the right train and I was finally headed home. Then something fell across the tracks and brought the train to a screeching halt. Oh, God, my heart hurts! Can somebody give me something for the pain?

Am I dreaming? Where am I going? I don’t recognize this train. Only yesterday I laid down for a short nap because I was soooo tired! When I woke up I was on this train with a woman I don’t know; a woman who won’t quit whispering in my ear about what I have to do to get home, to fulfill my dreams, my destiny, and end the agony. Why can’t she just leave me alone? Doesn’t she know all that whispering is frightening me and making me nervous?


Please, can’t somebody tell me where this train is going? How did I get here? I don’t think I want to go wherever this train is going. I’m scared of what waits for me there.

Please, Mr. Conductor, make the engineer turn this train around. I have to get home. I need to find someone before it’s too late. I need to tell her that it’s okay to LIVE life! It’s okay to laugh, dance, dream, and write — in these things she will find herself and find relief from the pain, a way out of the fog.

Don’t tell me it’s too late! It can’t be! My life can’t go on like this! PLEASE! Somebody help me stop this runaway train before it reaches the end of the line and hits the wall!


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