🩸The Eternal Train: A Journey to the Self
How to Get Off at the Right Stop
🩸
The Eternal Train: A Journey to the Self
How to Get Off at the Right Stop
Red Blood Journal
Issue 47 – November 2025
By An Anonymous Conductor
Subscribe to Red Blood Journal for raw, unfiltered dives into the human condition. No ads. No apologies. Just truth, bleeding onto the page.
The train hurtles forward through an endless night, its rails laid by hands we never see. Stations flicker past like half-remembered dreams—some bathed in gold light, others shrouded in fog. The loudspeaker crackles with names, destinations, fates. We all have tickets, but few of us bother to read the fine print.
This is life. Not a metaphor. The real thing.
The Passengers
Look around your carriage. See them?
The Impatient Leapers: They jump at the first platform that looks exciting, even when the voice hasn’t called their name. Thrill-seekers chasing dopamine hits, they collect regrets like souvenirs. “Wrong stop,” they mutter, dusting themselves off, only to sprint for the next train already pulling away.
The Eternal Clingers: Fingers white-knuckled on seat arms, they pray their station never comes. “Not yet,” they whisper. Death terrifies them—not because of the unknown, but because they’ve never truly lived. They ride in circles, watching the same scenery loop, mistaking motion for progress.
The Patient Waiters: These ones sit calmly, eyes forward. They know their stop when they hear it. No forcing, no bargaining. Just readiness. When the doors slide open, they step off without looking back. You can spot them—they’re the only ones smiling.
Then there are the archetypes we all recognize:
The Obedient Sheep follow every announcement without question. “Next stop: Success,” booms the voice. They scramble. “Transfer to Happiness Express.” They obey. Never noticing the voice might be lying.
The Rebels derive their entire identity from defiance. They smoke in no-smoking cars, scream over the announcements, piss on the floor just to watch others recoil. Their rebellion isn’t freedom—it’s another form of slavery. To the rules they claim to hate.
The Questioners—my people—press their faces to the windows. “Who built these tracks? Where’s the engine? Why this direction?” They annoy everyone, but they’re the only ones awake.
The Inevitable Stop
Here’s the part no one wants to hear: The train doesn’t go forever.
One day—maybe tomorrow, maybe in fifty years—the brakes will screech. Your name will echo through the speakers, crystal clear. No extensions. No appeals. Doors open. You get off.
Whether you arrive whole or in pieces depends on one thing only:
Were you honest with the person sitting next to you the entire journey?
That person never speaks aloud. Never judges outwardly. Knows every lie you’ve told yourself, every justification, every “I’ll change tomorrow.” Your inner self—the silent witness who watched you choose comfort over growth, approval over authenticity, safety over aliveness.
The Great Deception
We’ve built elaborate systems to avoid this conversation.
Religion sells itself as the final destination, but it’s just another snack cart. Offers temporary highs—certainty, community, rituals that feel profound. But when the buzz wears off? You’re still on the same train, clutching empty wrappers.
Philosophy, therapy, self-help, politics—all useful tools. All temporary distractions from the real work:
Learning to sit in silence with yourself until the lies burn away.
The Return Ticket
Those who step off fractured—bitter, empty, still performing for ghosts—don’t find peace. They find themselves gently but firmly escorted back aboard. Same train. Same scratches on the windows. Same fellow passengers wearing different faces.
“This time I’ll get it right,” they promise.
Round and round. Lifetime after lifetime, until something cracks open.
The lucky ones break early. A dark night of the soul at 3 AM. A betrayal that shatters illusions. A child asking, “Why are you so angry, Daddy?” with eyes that see through every defense.
That’s when the real journey begins.
How to Get Off at the Right Stop
There’s no map. No guru. No 10-step program.
Just this:
Find a quiet carriage—literally or metaphorically.
Sit across from your inner self.
Ask: “What are we actually doing here?”
Listen. Really listen. The answer will hurt.
Stop lying. About anything. Ever again.
Act from truth, not from fear or desire for approval.
Repeat until the voice calls your true name—not the one on your ticket, but the one you’ve been avoiding.
When that happens, the doors open onto a platform you never could have imagined. Sunlight warms rails leading somewhere entirely new.
You’ll step off carrying nothing but yourself—finally, mercifully, complete.
Final Announcement
This is your conductor speaking.
The next stop is yours if you’re ready.
If not, enjoy the scenery.
It’ll look exactly the same next time around.
But when you’re tired of the loop...
When the lies taste like ash...
When you finally want off this fucking train...
Look inside.
Your best friend has been waiting the whole time.
They know the way home.
If this piece cut you open, good. That’s the point.
Share it with someone riding in circles.
Leave a comment with your stop’s name—the real one.
Subscribe for more blood on the page.
The train waits for no one.
🩸 Red Blood Journal: Where philosophy meets the bone.