First Hour

"Huh?" In a blink of an eye, Wing was no where to be found. Where could he be?

... What should I do now?I head to the 9th seat. Surprisingly, Mary is sitting there. She easily spots me.

Cheerfully, she greets me, "Oh, hi there!" She asks. "Are you here to play the Tarot Cards too?"

"Tarot Cards?" I ask, puzzled.

"I see," Mary murmurs. "You don't know about it yet. I heard from one of the previous passengers that you may learn something about yourself if you try it. Like the fellow beside me, Bluebird—he desperately wants to know about his past life, so he tries it all the time." She cocks her head to the side. "How about you? Do you want to try it?"

I blink. ". . . I am not sure if I want to. . ." I say slowly.

"I understand where you're coming from. Sometimes not knowing is a blessing . . . " Mary trails off. "Well, you don't have to force yourself—like I'd said, you're free to do anything you want to on this train. Your past memories probably don't mean anything here anyway."

I say nothing. ". . ." I cough awkwardly. "By the way, did you happen to see someone by the name Wing?"

"No, I've never heard of it," Mary replies, perplexed. "Could that be a new passenger?"

"I don't know. . ." I find myself saying this phrase a lot lately. Dejected, I decided to return to my seat—the 8th seat.

I consider what I have find. No one has seen Wing but me. As I pondered in silence, a familiar voice greeted me once more.

"May I sit here?" The voice asks.

I turn. "Wing? Is that you?" When he nods, my curiosity turns to irritation. "Where did you go? I was looking all over for you just now."

"I was here the whole time," He replied.

"Huh? What do you mean by that?" I ask, confused.

"You shouldn't worry about that," He says. He changes the subject. "By the way, you've seen the Tarot Cards haven't you?"

"Yeah, I heard from Mary that you may learn something about yourself from it." I reply.

"Are you going to try it?" He leans forward curiously.

"Huh?" It is another phrase that I find myself say constantly in this mystical train.

"Aren't you at least curious about your past life—like what kind of person you used to be?"

". . .I don't know." I say slowly, uncertainly. "A little, I guess."

"That's the same with me," Wing says. "It's not a bad idea to start everything from scratch—having a brand new life and name—building a new identity and memories. Yet at the same time, there's a lingering feeling that something is missing."

". . ." I look at him oddly, I can't tell whether he can see it or not.

"Ah—perhaps you should go ask for everyone's opinion about it?" He suggests.

"That's a good idea," I agree. "I'll do that."

Alright, I've decided, I'll go ask for everyone's opinion. Before I leave, I get the strange urge to look out the window.

The first time I look out the window, I was overwhelmed by shock. Gradually, that shock became curiosity. I began to wonder if there's an end to this mist.

This white abyss that shrouds the train.