It all started with a railroad track.

One night, a television was switched on and a weird sort of reportage was airing: the filmed course of a train with the sky as the only future lying ahead. The rythmic tchook-tchook-tchook of wind, wood and metal.

The wings of a girl sprung out from her back and an impatient freedom stretched out both hands. She never faltered, without hesitation, she packed and left. It could've been the call of either life or death.

Passengers came and went, brief neighbours sitting in false intimacy, barely a nod in her direction. She hugged her messenger bag like a teddy bear and thought of barriers. The sky was beginning to clear closer to heaven but it stayed dark over her head. Ironic how even Nature can be.

The girl peered out of the dirty glass and tried counting the leaves from passing trees. A soft, broken voice was singing in her ears, maintaining her soul between Earth and Immortality.

The girl didn't know where she stood. Something in the air let her breathe more easily, unlike from where she came from.

One, two, three.

Loud guitar riffs, a dispersed crowd, an inch deep in spilled beer. Scream out your life, they're crying these words they aspire to have written. Compare your quiet room to this explosion.

A hurtful voice, like a dagger in her heart. Beats overwhelming her head. Bang, bang, she's dead. Luscious volupty and intertwining bodies of purity. Close your eyes.

The streets are dark and the pavement reverberates. Her face is illuminated by the sidewalks and you forget who you are.

Part of you sits down on the curb. Smoke rises from your lips, drawing her like a moth to a flame. She slowly whispers, softly breathing beautiful words of adoration. You let her stoop besides you and take your woman- shaped lover against your chest. Gently stroking her to life, calling with that voice she loves. Hush, hush, do not wake the city lights. Smile that private smile.

But ah! Maybe she won't ever hear that lullaby. The creature inside is hungry and screeches in red. You grab her delicious neck and taste it. Hands fumble, mouths plead and threaten. A cutting metal falls dripping to your feet. A girl drowns from lack of wonderful, was this how the fantasy went? Strange idolisation.

You run. She has entranced you with her life and death.

A girl will take the train with other dozens of girls the next morning. Was it worth it yesterday, today, tomorrow?

Sensations are the Gods' autobiography.