Week 1: Stuck Between Stations (EXTRA/Non-Mandatory)

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Second: there's an optional prompt that won't be voted on. So, enjoy.

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The train had been gone for three days. At least, Mara thought it had been three days.

The clock above the platform insisted it was 2:17. It had insisted this when she arrived, when she woke from her first sleep curled beneath the timetable, and every time she looked up afterward. There was no sunrise here. No sunset. Just fluorescent lights humming overhead and tracks disappearing into tunnels in both directions.

The sign read: BETWEEN STATIONS

Mara had laughed the first time she saw it. “Well, that's helpful.”

“More than you think.”

She spun around. An old man sat on the bench behind her. She could have sworn it had been empty five seconds ago.

“Where did you come from?”

He looked down the platform. “Same place you did, I suppose.”

“You don't even know where I came from.”

“Neither do you.”

Mara frowned. “Okay, I already don't like you.”

“That happens.”

She remembered the train. She remembered rain against the windows and being furious with her sister.

You always have to be right.

Those were the last words Claire had said to her. Mara remembered typing a response.

Because I usually am.

Then—nothing.

Mara glanced at the empty tracks. “Am I dead?”

The old man took his time answering. “Would it make you feel better if I said no?”

“No.”

“Then I won't.”

“That isn't an answer.”

“You'll find there aren't many of those here.”

“Fantastic.”

She hated him immediately.

For what might have been hours, or days, he asked questions. At first Mara answered reluctantly. Then she became annoyed. Then, mostly because there was absolutely nothing else to do, she started answering honestly.

“So what were you and your sister fighting about?” he asked.

“Something stupid.”

“That's not what you said before.”

“I said she was wrong.”

“Was she?”

“Yes.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“What? She was.”

“I didn't say anything.”

“You did the eyebrow thing.”

“What eyebrow thing?”

“That thing right there.”

He smiled. “Maybe this isn't about whether your sister was wrong.”

Mara sighed. “Oh, I see. This is one of those places. I'm supposed to learn some profound lesson before I can leave.”

“Is that what you think?”

“I don't know. You're the mysterious old man who appeared out of nowhere. You tell me.”

He didn't.

Mara rolled her eyes. “Fine. I get it. I don't always have to be right.”

Nothing happened.

She waited.

Then she threw her arms wide. “Hello? Lesson learned. Where's my train?”

The old man laughed.

“What's so funny?”

“You think saying it means you've learned it.”

“Is there a test?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Oh, good. And here I was worried this whole experience wouldn't get any more irritating.”

Eventually, Mara stopped demanding answers. She thought about Claire. About every argument she'd won. About the Thanksgiving Claire had left early. The birthday dinner that ended with their mother crying. The six months they hadn't spoken because Mara refused to apologize when she still believed she was correct.

“Oh,” she whispered.

The old man glanced over. “Oh?”

“It wasn't about being right.”

“No?”

“No.” Mara stared down at her hands. “I mean, yes, I wanted to be right. Obviously. But that wasn't enough. I needed Claire to admit that I was right.” She swallowed. “I needed everybody to admit it.”

The old man nodded.

Mara looked toward the tracks.

Nothing.

“Seriously?”

“What?”

“I'm still here.”

“So you are.”

“I figured it out!”

“And?”

“And what?”

He shrugged.

Mara groaned. “There's another lesson, isn't there?”

“Maybe.”

“You know, for someone who's apparently here to help, you're incredibly unhelpful.”

“Who said I'm here to help?”

Mara stared at him. “I really hate this place.”

She paced the platform. “So what comes next? I admit I need validation. Then what? There's a third lesson? Fourth? Fifth? Do I get a certificate when I'm done?”

“Maybe you're never done.”

“Then how does anyone get out of here?”

The old man studied her for a moment. “Why do you think getting out would prove you've learned anything?”

Mara stopped.

For the first time, she wondered if the station wasn't punishment. Maybe it was mercy. A place where there were no distractions. No doors to slam. No phones to silence. No opportunity to run from the uncomfortable realization that understanding yourself didn't magically change you.

“I could leave right now,” Mara said slowly, “and do exactly the same thing again.”

“You could.”

“Then what's the point of all this?”

He smiled. “Maybe that's the right question.”

She sat beside him.

Maybe the lesson wasn't I don't have to be right. Maybe it wasn't I don't need other people to admit I'm right. Maybe it was realizing that lessons weren't doors you walked through once and left behind. They were choices you made again and again, especially when making the old choice would be easier.

Somewhere in the tunnel, metal shrieked against metal.

Mara looked up. “Is that—?”

A light appeared.

“Oh, you've got to be kidding me.”

The old man chuckled.

The train slid into the station and the doors opened. Mara stood but hesitated before stepping aboard.

“So that's it?”

The old man shrugged. “Depends.”

“There it is again.”

“What?”

“That annoying non-answer.”

“You'll miss it.”

“I absolutely will not.”

He smiled.

Mara stepped onto the train.

When she opened her eyes, rain streaked the window. Her phone was still in her hand. Claire's message waited on the screen.

You always have to be right.

Below it was the response Mara had typed.

Because I usually am.

Her thumb hovered over Send.

The station had taught her everything.

That didn't mean she'd learned it.

Mara deleted the message.

She started typing something else.

You're right. I do that. I'm sorry.

She stared at the words for a long time.

Then she pressed Send.

For tonight, that was enough.

This version also makes the ending a little stronger: Mara doesn't just avoid making the old choice; she actively makes a different one.