By A. O. Wallat

The man minded the gap and stepped onto the train. He sat down and placed his bag beside him. The doors bleeped, hissed, then slid closed and the train left the station.

The journey was bumpy. The carriage rocked from side to side and the man, wary of his luggage, held the bag in place to keep it from falling. Soon the train stopped at another station and the carriage filled up and the man had to move his bag for another passenger.

Then he had a problem. The bag was too large to rest on his lap and if he laid it between his legs other passengers wouldn’t be able to get passed.  So he opted to place it by the sliding doors. This made him nervous.

 What if someone snatches it? He asked. I would have to chase them down, he answered. But what if I was too slow? He wondered. Well just make sure you don’t lose it. He agreed.

So he chose to watch his bag the whole time. But the journey was long. And soon his eyelids began to close. He had to keep watch but couldn’t. Instead, he made a compromise. Between stops he would sleep. No, rest his eyes. And at every stop he would watch his bag. And so he did.

The bag was there. The doors bleeped and hissed. He shut his eyes. The doors bleeped and hissed. He opened his eyes. The bag was still there. The doors hissed. He shut his eyes. He opened his eyes. The carriage was empty. The bag was not there. The train leapt off the tracks. It flew. Then he was flying. The doors bleeped and hissed. He opened his eyes. The bag was there again. He waited for the hiss and then closed his eyes once more. He was outside. Running. Running after the train. It stopped. The doors hissed. He got on. The bag was still there. The doors bleeped. He opened his eyes.

It was his stop. The doors were sliding shut. He jumped up. And got out just in time. He closed his eyes. The bag was still there.