Now

…and each time there was a story in the end:

1.   Driverless train destined to crash, until something caused surroundings to speed away too. Result? Train was relatively stationary, and safe. 

2.   Outside the dirty glass, darkness closed in. Like black wrapper on gift nobody wanted to receive. Train locked me in, hardly any passengers. Rocked me softly, my reflection superimposed on world outside—ghostly. If I touched the glass, I’d dissolve like I never was.

3.   I was driving the train (and knew how to?!). Which was fine since I was doing okay—past fairy-girls dormitory, past dream-making factory and destined to halt at “Good, Nice Poppins.”

4.   School bus on track, packed with kindergarten pupils. Train hurtling down at top speed. Us passengers terrified, digging our nails into the soft cushioned handrests. Driver braked slightly. Train leaped over. Us—we remembered—ah, we’d invented trains that can briefly fly—like cassowaries in danger.

5.   We took the holiday train to Moon. Return ticket is, at the time of writing, quite unconfirmed.

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Mandira Pattnaik has published in The Cincinnati Review, The Rumpus, Wigleaf Top 50 (2023, 2025), Best Microfiction (2024) and BSF anthologies (2021, 2024). Longlisted in Commonwealth Prize 2025, she writes across categories/genres. Her books include Glass/Fire (2024), Where We Set Our Easel (2023) and White Hot Moon (forthcoming). Visit mandirapattnaik.com.