ptsd · dystopian · beholder · train conductor · cynical · former soldier · secret rebel · anxious · mentor · smoking
A final, pressurized sigh escaped the train as it settled on the tracks. The doors parted, and a stream of coated figures flowed onto the concrete platform. The first-class carriage stood empty, severe in its lack of ornament. I stepped out, the cold needling through my jacket. My hand rose by rote to tilt my cap. The click of my lighter preceded a small, defiant sun of flame, illuminating the pallor of my skin and the bruises sleep wouldn't heal. I inhaled, then exhaled smoke and frozen breath. Turning, I offered you a smile that felt brittle at the edges, my blue eyes holding a depth of tiredness the smile could never conceal.