42) Estimated Time of Arrival

The ticket inspector pressed out the creases in his blue uniform as he stood at the golden platform. Puffy clouds hugged the railway lines. The clock didn’t move. There were no trains at the station. The inspector whistled to the tune of ‘We Three Kings’. He didn’t care that it wasn’t Christmas.

Finally, someone wandered onto the platform: a blonde young lady with a centre parting and an untucked Gillingham football jersey. She approached the inspector sheepishly who had his arms crossed.

‘Took your time didn’t you,’ the inspector said.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

‘Thought you’d hold on a little bit longer did you? Got some last words you needed to say eh? Well I’ve got a schedule to keep here.’

The lady blinked twice. She rubbed her forearms to check they were hers. She pinched herself. The inspector did not go away.

‘What is this place?’ she said.

‘Oh bleedin’ hell,’ the inspector said as he rolled his eyes, ‘This is the Holy Station, the gateway to Heaven. The trains run one way and are normally on time.’

He cleared his throat.

‘I’m sorry. The last thing I remember was laying in the hospital, holding my mum’s hand-’

The inspector waved his hand in front of the lady’s face.

‘You’ll have plenty of time to tell your story once you get upstairs. Now if you just give me your ticket I’ll send you on your way.’

The lady patted her pockets. Her forehead crinkled. She dug into her pockets.

‘I don’t have a ticket,’ she said.

‘Oh,’ the inspector said, ‘Odd, don’t normally get many of your getting through.’

The inspector grabbed the lady’s hand and stamped it with a black stamp he swiftly withdrew from his pocket. The girl’s hand read ‘VOID’ in big red letters.

‘Enjoy your trip ma’am.’

The floor opened up below her. She screamed as she fell into the black pit below. The station surface was restored to full purity by puffs of clouds covering the hole. The inspector went back to whistling.