The machinist

The machinist


He used to reach the station of Delidia every day at the same time: 12:15 pm. And he saw the same scenario, every time.

There was no one. Nothing. Never. It seemed a magical place, a place where time had stopped and every one of the air particles had been completely frozen and kept their position for centuries.

But that was what he should do.

His work, among other things, was to always take the machine there at the same time, stop, get off and wait for five minutes so the slow people could board the train in time.

But no one ever appeared. Not a soul.

Truth is, the train had no passengers ever. The engine driver had not seen anyone getting in that electric beast in his life. She never saw a single person at any station. Never a man, woman or child in the 457 kilometers that the engine driver used to do every day in total.

But it was his job. It was what he had to do.

He used to get his monthly salary the 20th, with no delays or advances, with the only letter he received in the mail each month.

Truth is, the engineer lived alone and never use to walk or have breakfast in a coffee shop, or eat in a bar, or dine at a restaurant. But even if he wanted to, he never saw anyone, ever. Nowhere.

But he didn’t have to ask any questions.

He had enough with his monthly purchase by phone. The robotic voice that answered on the other side, listening to his list of supplies, used to make no significant change in his mood.

Truth is, he never thought why there was nobody else. Why only he was there, in that world. His world?

Last time, it was hard to remember, was after that railway accident where everyone died except him. After those three days in a coma.

the machinist

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