In childhood and adolescence, I had to travel by train more often than by plane. Why, for the first time I got into a winged car at a very conscious age, barely overcoming claustrophobia and fear of heights. But very soon she got used to traveling by air and appreciated all the advantages of flying, over the slow rail links. By the way, my relationship with trains has not developed since childhood, and now, I dislike them more than planes.
Firstly, I absolutely cannot and cannot sleep on the train. It is difficult to call sleep the borderline state between reality and nap, when you hear absolutely everything that is happening around. Each joint in the roadway strikes the brain, and any acceleration and deceleration will rock you more abruptly than taking off and landing in an airplane.
But not only for the slowness, languor on the way and the inability to fall asleep, I do not like trains. There is something in their measured course that fascinates and frightens at the same time.
As a child, traveling by train seemed to me something like this: you are as if you are inside a huge iron monster. The lizard or whatever it is, purposefully moves from point A to point B. This living creature, living by its own laws, gradually swallows the distance, leaving behind time and space. Together with him, you also overcome this path. At this moment, the world remains in place, and you move inside the metal dragon. Once I almost fell behind the train. I wanted to see from the side how the monster moves away from the platform. I wanted to know what would happen to those who remained inside, what their departure into the unknown would look like, and what would happen to me if I stayed. When the teacher, with whom we went on an excursion, did not have the number of wards, we had to pull the emergency tap. They did not make discounts on violent imagination and young age, strict suggestion and close attention to my strange person were punishment for the entire trip. I tried in vain to explain to the angry teacher about the monster that swallows time and space, about my desire to see how it takes the people in its belly into the unknown. I got it then notably.
For a long time, the subway evoked the same feeling of superstitious horror in me, although from early childhood I used it every day to travel to school. Three subway stops were torture for the would-be claustrophobic. With a sinking heart, I watched the train from which I had just left: I am here, and the remaining passengers continue to move. But where will they go? Will they reach their destination, or there, in the tunnel, dissolve in the light of lanterns without a trace.
Later, when I matured and became actively interested in mysterious and inexplicable phenomena, I came across an interesting article. It said that railway tracks, aprons, stations, arrows and everything connected with crossing roads are anomalous places. The scientific explanation for this fact is that a powerful electromagnetic field is created above the paths. It can influence not only time and space, but also the perception of especially sensitive people.
Proponents of this theory say that it is near the railways that many interesting and mysterious things happen. A strong magnetic field changes the flow of time, creates temporary funnels and loops, and is capable of bending spatial segments. Of course, trains do not have the speed at which one can "overtake" the current time, but it is also enough for a person or even a group of people to "fall" into a time hole.
A person traveling by rail seems to be alienated, moving away from the real world. The whole raison d'être of his existence lies in this moment in the pictures sweeping past in the window. Life is on its own, and he is beyond the scope of what is happening. Out of time and out of space: inside an iron caterpillar, purposefully crawling along the rails.
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Once, already at a conscious age, I happened to travel by train. The company was noisy, cheerful, it seemed that no one would calm down until morning. I had a headache and, considering this pretext quite plausible, I got into my compartment. My neighbor decided to continue the conversation, so she asked not to lock the door so as not to wake me up with a knock.
I lay awake for a long time, or rather, so it seemed to me. In fact, the consciousness, tired by endless days, was slowly sinking into the land of dreams. I heard every sound, felt the beating of the monster's iron heart. Stop. Silence. An indistinct voice from the loudspeaker announces the station name and stop time. Yes, have you noticed that these voices are difficult to call real? As if not people are pronouncing poorly distinguishable phrases, but unseen creatures from a parallel universe. I look out the window. A traditional provincial platform, illuminated by the sparse light of energy-saving lamps. A lonely yard dog sits on one of the lanterns. So she scratched herself noisily, dusted herself off and trotted towards the only building.
The train starts to move, we move on. The door to the compartment opens, and the tired neighbor falls noisily on her shelf.
After a while - stop again. A neighbor pushes me in the side, with an offer to go for a smoke. The parking lot is long. I ask what village we are passing through. A friend answers what the station is called. So, stop, I'm jumping up on my top shelf. We have already passed it!
We? - a friend raises her eyebrows in surprise and twists her finger at her temple - which of us drank a lot? You seemed to be sitting sober! How could we pass it, if here it is, just now announced.
I quickly jumped off the shelf, put on my sneakers and jumped out onto the platform. Before my eyes was the same picture I had already seen: dim lights, a lonely building at the end of the platform, a dog. Everything looked exactly like a couple of hours ago. I went up to the dog, patted her ears, lit a cigarette. The night breeze carried the smoke into the dark sky. The dog wagged its tail gratefully, licked its hand, scratched it and went about its business.
Now everything is clear, I thought. I was not here two hours ago, but my presence was planned. I was just a little ahead of time and saw the future, the piece of the puzzle fell into place …