The Last Train...

Ashes to ashes dust to dust.
The journey came to an end. he was lowered into the ditch.
A grave to be  precise.  He opened his eyes.
It was dark and damp. Silence all around.
What will remain with him is smell of  death. Stench of decay.
Slowly his flesh will peel off. Life will be rendered in bones.
Butterflies will give away to worms and maggots.
It was only yesterday. He was waiting in the platform. For the train to arrive. The place
was filled with figures floating around. All waiting for the last train. He looked up. Shroud of death had
covered the sun.
The train arrived. Like a mammoth serpent, it arrived silently.
They all boarded the train. No one rushed. None carried any  luggage. The berths had
names. Not numbers.
Like a giant anaconda, the train started crawling. No one spoke. No one smiled.
The platforms were empty.
He was trying to think. Faces appeared and then disappeared. A small child was running
all around. His mother with food in her hand chasing him. He could hear the child's
laughter. Not the mother's voice, who perhaps was pleading with the child to eat his food.
The child suddenly turned and started running towards him. He extended his arms to hold
him. He could not. The child ran through him and so did the mother with food in her
hand.
The train had gathered speed. He closed his eyes. Sleep, heavy on his eyelids. He was in
the hills. It was misty. He was walking with her. hand in hand. It was the first time he had
ever travelled with a woman. They checked into a hotel. An old lady, the proprietor,
welcomed them. It had started raining. They got into the bed, slid under the quilt. The
room heater, glowing in a  corner of  the room. The train rattled. He woke up. He could
still hear the child's laughter. The shadowy figures sat motionless. No one spoke. He fell
asleep again. A dark cloud had gathered. He had lost his way. It became dark. He could
not see a thing. Someone held his hand. He could not see the face. It was too dark. He
surrendered to the unknown guide. He travelled a long way. Holding hands. Suddenly the
figure started screaming. Her long dark hair coiled around him like hundred serpents.
Jumping, jolting, jarring of the train  broke his sleep yet again. "Life is a tale told by a
harami"...a figure, sitting quietly all this while, screamed. "Man is a dog," another figure
shouted. All men began to bark.
There was a sudden frenzy inside the coach.  The figures were running across the narrow
corridor of  the speeding train. A giant figure leaped out from nowhere. "Hail Lucifer," he
raised both his arms and looked up.
"The mind is its own place and in it self can make a Heaven  of Hell, a Hell of  
Heaven.What matter where, if I be still the same, And what I should be, all but less then 
he Whom Thunder hath made greater? Here at least We shall be free the Almighty hath 
not built. Here for his envy, will not drive us hence.Here we may reign secure, and in my choice To 
reign is worth ambition though in Hell: Better to reign in Hell, then serve in Heaven,"  
his voice echoed.
Suddenly silence was back. No one spoke. No one moved.
All were looking at this floating, translucent giant.The train moved gently.
Once again lulled by the movement of the train he fell asleep.