The Country from Hell
Bolting up blindly from your seat, your first thought is to sit back down. No, it's too late. You've already run away. Even though you are still within the German's grasp, you have already run away. He will never touch you, never again.
The mud splashes all the way up to your sleeves as you land hard on the ground in a swirl of railway smoke. The train roars deafeningly away from you and you close your eyes against all of the harsh sensations that have invaded every one of your senses. The night has gotten colder and wetter, but you breathe it all in with gratitude. You don't even care what kind of explaining you'll have to do, to Green Bandit, to your parents, to yourself. You don't now how you'll get home, but you don't care about that either. The ground is firm beneath your feet, reassuring in its everlasting solidity. Somewhere on the platform, you can hear the muted strains of an accordion playing an old lullaby that your mother used to sing to you. Looking around at the others huddled under the single sputtering light, you are overcome suddenly by an overwhelming feeling of warmth. All dark-haired, all wet, all shivering, all scowling yet all smiling imperceptibly as they motionlessly mouth the words to that same song that everybody knows. Standing in the empty early morning, you are suddenly proud to be Iadian. These people are beaten and weary, but they live a life that is free from delusion. They can rejoice in their poverty, in their rain and their cold night air.
You smile broadly, turning your head to a stooped elderly man hiding under his wide-brimmed hat.
"Good morning, sir!" you almost shout at him. "It's going to be a beautiful day."
The mud splashes all the way up to your sleeves as you land hard on the ground in a swirl of railway smoke. The train roars deafeningly away from you and you close your eyes against all of the harsh sensations that have invaded every one of your senses. The night has gotten colder and wetter, but you breathe it all in with gratitude. You don't even care what kind of explaining you'll have to do, to Green Bandit, to your parents, to yourself. You don't now how you'll get home, but you don't care about that either. The ground is firm beneath your feet, reassuring in its everlasting solidity. Somewhere on the platform, you can hear the muted strains of an accordion playing an old lullaby that your mother used to sing to you. Looking around at the others huddled under the single sputtering light, you are overcome suddenly by an overwhelming feeling of warmth. All dark-haired, all wet, all shivering, all scowling yet all smiling imperceptibly as they motionlessly mouth the words to that same song that everybody knows. Standing in the empty early morning, you are suddenly proud to be Iadian. These people are beaten and weary, but they live a life that is free from delusion. They can rejoice in their poverty, in their rain and their cold night air.
You smile broadly, turning your head to a stooped elderly man hiding under his wide-brimmed hat.
"Good morning, sir!" you almost shout at him. "It's going to be a beautiful day."
