Your phone blinks 00:00:60 and refuses to explain. A paper ticket slides out of the charging port: PLATFORM ∅ — ONE WAY — MIND THE LAG. The station is stitched between two heartbeats. Lamps flicker in Morse for “Probably Fine.” A timetable flips through palindromes: 12:21, 13:31, 14:41… A vending machine sells pocket minutes (exact change in sighs). The station cat wears a conductor’s cap and a badge that reads: TEMPORAL SAFETY OFFICER, MEOW. A train sighs into view, carriages painted with yesterday’s weather. The doors open before the brakes finish deciding. Inside, you glimpse passengers made of future plans—gum wrappers of intent, folded into people-shapes. In your pocket: a note in your handwriting. DON’T RIDE PAST THE THIRD CHIME. No signature, just a coffee ring shaped like a lunar eclipse. The speakers cough. “Service to Elsewhere-now boarding. Please keep hands, feet, and lingering regrets inside the timeline.”
By Rigel Marmalade