Sunday midnight, the night-train leaves the station.
Only two passengers; the Sleep-Eater and me.
By journey’s end, the ‘things I shouldn’t have done’ chest will have been prised open, its contents strewn across the carriage.
The ‘people I used to know’ gallery will have been studied to guilt-laden exhaustion, the ‘worrying symptoms’ and ‘don’t forget’ catalogues extensively refurbished.
Arriving at dawn, quivering with fatigue, I’ll alight to face the week ahead whilst the Sleep-Eater remains on board, hands folded across his swollen belly, belching contentedly.
He probably won’t be travelling Monday night, I’ll be drop-dead exhausted, but Tuesday’s lookin’ good.
A re-tread this week from 5 years ago but as appropriate today as it’s always been, for me at least. Thanks to Rochelle, the driver of the Friday Fictioneer train, for all that she does to keep us on track.