Chapter 3: New World Part 2

Hours passed slowly yet meaningfully as Francisco stared out the window. Landscapes changed as different worlds revealed themselves. People's livelihoods, businesses, homes displayed themselves yet disappeared as he passed by, allowing for only a slim glimpse into it all. People's habits, thoughts, beliefs, and tendencies were shown through the way their world was organized. On the outside, people perfected their mannerisms and actions, making sure not to reveal too much about themselves. Yet the inside revealed who they truly were in essence, although nearly impossible to see in the natural world. Just like everything, with enough observation and experimentation, you can come up with a hypothesis. The focal point of this observation was their home; the way people decorated and presented it cast a glimpse into what they were inside or what they were trying to hide.

Inside the train, everything was peaceful. Soothing jazz music played off the intercoms as everyone relaxed in their comfortable seats. He finally had the moment to rest and not worry about anything. What felt like eons of working and managing had made this foreign. What once was millions all dissipated on that fateful day. And even at the time he did have that money, he could not use it for himself. Not for entertainment, trips abroad, or for simple fun. The material of his work did not allow for a single moment of that. Solace could only be found in the embrace of others. But with all that change, maybe he could gain what he lost. Maybe he could gain something more.

A pure state of silence embodied the relaxed train as everyone participated in this time of quiet. Most conversations ceased as people admired what the world had to offer or slept. Some also chose to use their phones and indulge themselves. Time seemed frozen in this short period of solitude, but the end came shortly after. Screeches rang throughout the train as the carts jumped and shifted. The mountainous momentum the train once had diminished. Intercoms, once playing music, now bear the conductor's voice, announcing the nearing of their destination, solidifying most people's thoughts. Spikes in conversations ensued once they all realized the eventual ending of their ride. Many prepared by gathering their belongings, while others discussed the long journey they had recently lived through. Others woke up after hearing the chatter and eventually entertained themselves with more chatter. Everyone, including the old man who just a moment ago had his eyes twitch as he slowly gained consciousness, made it clear that his old body had far outlived its prime and was no longer handling long journeys the same way it once did. Stretching the old man's bones caused an audible, uncomfortable sound. They popped and shuffled around to their respective positions as the old man groaned heavily. For Francisco, although he had been on the train for far longer, his body remained relatively the same; only a few sores bothered him. Not needing to prepare for the eventual departure, Francisco indulged himself by staring out the window one last time before this journey's end. Outside, buildings as tall as towers revealed themselves as they pierced above the light blue sky, dominating over the remaining buildings. Dark blue light reflected off the windows of the majority of these high-rise towers, blinding those foolish enough to stare. Only those with proper jobs could ever imagine themselves standing at the peak of these towers. As for those without, they could only hope. For under these towers was the real world, the world most lived in. In this world, many people struggled, fought, and worked to teeter on the edge between homelessness and prosperity. Yet many lost this battle, succumbing to the worthlessness and disappointment that approached after defeat. They plunged themselves deep into depression and addiction, ingesting and killing themselves with drugs and alcohol. They did this only to cope, to dream of times better, no matter how much of a fantasy these dreams were. For this was all they could do; the world swallowed them and spit them back out, deeming them unworthy to inhabit the peaks the world had to offer. Now hope was all they had, for God never answered their prayers, as if to affirm the world's thoughts that they were worthless everywhere. Was this meant to happen? Did God want this? Many would never know the answer, for they would kill themselves before its answer could be shown through the naturals of the world. Francisco understood well what it meant to succumb to the failure of prosperity. For although Francisco had once stood at the peaks of these high-rise towers gazing down, he was born on the frost-driven asphalt of all below. Francisco had experienced both worlds and witnessed what they had to offer. Neither world could satisfy his desires, for he had always wanted something more. But now that something had left Francisco's eyes, all that he had left was his expressionless face, which experienced most of what these worlds had to offer. And in those dark, vague eyes of his, it was clear to see hope had never inhabited it, for hope could never have satisfied his desires, only action. But now Francisco had lost even that unexplainable glint. Now only the cold shell of his former being remains, locked away in his dim, unreadable eyes. This is why Francisco did not care whether he got addicted to these drugs. What point was there in caring when he no longer had anything to look forward to? He was now addicted to the relaxing sensation, the delusions, and the love the drugs and alcohol brought. He could no longer maintain himself without them. Maybe for a singular moment, he could abstain, yet the same pounding desire to ingest came no different after. And the moment he loses the meager amount of cocaine he has left, his fragile state of mind will collapse. Now he was little to no different from the world he first came from. No, Francisco was different. He never had hope; he had nothing to look forward to or people to meet. What Francisco is doing now is only staying alive, for he is not living.