|Beautiful pieces of art that I would love to hang on my walls...|
The Phantom TrainMartha stands nervously among the throng of onlookers, and does her best to keep her eyes pointed at her feet. Everyone is there for the same reason, but she doesn't want to have a feeling of comradeship, and she doesn't want to see anyone she knows. She comes to this place every year for one reason, much the same reason as the crowd around her, but it's not these kind of moments that make people bond. There is only a sadness here, and try as she might she can't become excited. No one has forced her to stand at the edge of the tracks, but she does it anyway. It's a sort of perverse will, she knows she couldn't stop coming even if she wanted to.
While fidgeting nervously with the frayed straps of her handbag, she overhears two men next to her speaking in low tones. Stealing a nervous glance at them, she sees that they are two of the porters, speaking to each other about the coming train. One of them is platinum-haired and wise, the other has the face of a child.
"Why do you keep looking