When I woke up, the train had already crossed the board. I couldn't see the outside from my cornered position except for the unimaginably blue sky, that was looming up in the window. The whole car was busy doing their morning chores; a line into the bathroom stood all length of the aisle. The man on the left of me was back and asleep. I took out the picture again, to study the mountain and indulge in sweet fiction of what it would look like when I got there. On the flip side of the picture, there was a word written: White. At the time I did not understand what it meant. The only thing that was sure about – this wasn't the name of the mountain.

----------------------------------------

Around midday, the train stopped.

“White!” announced the conductor, entering from a vestibule. For a moment I was confused. I was told, that I had to go to the 'south', without specific names to guide me. At the same time, there was this word on the flip side of the picture. Could it be the name of the station?

I got up and looked out the car window – a blindingly white plane was going from the train all the way up to the horizon, where it dissolved in a white haze, which further up faded into the clear blue sky. The whole picture looked like somebody had filled the background with a gradient in Photoshop and stuck it to a wall.

“White! Anybody getting off?” the conductor shouted. There wasn't enough time to think. “We have to go out in any way,” I thought, “if this is it – this is it, if not – we'll take another train.” I grabbed my backpack and started to crawl through the car to the exit.

I got off the train and immediately got blown by the hot, dry, dusty wind. The earth here consisted of fine white sand. The plain was absolutely flat in all its extent – at least so it seemed. The sun glowed from above, and the sky was dark blue, almost indigo. In the haze near the horizon, there was looming a pale, faded streak of something that looked like a mountain range.

The train blew its horn and started moving, its cars clanging and clashing behind me. Soon it disappeared in the haze, and I was the only human standing beside running in a straight line of rail tracks.

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

“Ain't much water here, huh,” I said to myself. Clouds of dust were sprinting across the plane. The streak of mountains in the haze was dancing in the hot air. Nothing could be seen anywhere around.

Maybe I have made a mistake?

I sat down on my backpack and took out my picture. I studied it all across but didn't see anything of a clue. The mountain was rising into the blue sky covered in snow on the front side, the 'White' – the only word on this piece of paper – was written with a pencil on the flip side. We had the 'White', we had the 'blue' – where's the mountain?

The sun shone ruthlessly. I got warm, then hot, then I got up and took off my jacket and hoodie. There weren't many options to be choosing from; the grayish streak of silhouettes was dancing in the hot air from afar. If there were any mountains somewhere here in the vicinity, it was only logical to assume that they were in that direction. I grabbed my stuff and strode off.

The sand was soft, the footprints I was leaving in it were clear and sharp, and the ground beneath it was hard; walking on it was easy, if not for the heat and wind. I went on for like 20 minutes and didn't seem to see anything. I was becoming tired and started thinking about getting back, but quickly reworded the thought – I didn't have any 'back' to return to.

I didn't seem to have any 'forward' though either. I went on and on, and soon lost track of time. The sun was blazing, I got hot and sweaty, legs in my pants became wet and sticky. I made a halt, dropping my bag and sitting down on it. I wiped my face, and it was covered in sweat and dust. Dust was on my pants, on my t-shirt, on my arms; evidently, it was also in my hair and, of course, on the whole of my bag. Dust, dust, white dust everywhere, nothing but white dust in a radius of a thousand miles.

Have I really not made a mistake?

I did not panic. I told myself not to, but I could not help the feeling of being in the wrong position. Something was wrong; this shouldn't have been like that. After all, there was a train station right there, in the middle of this dust field – why? Why would it be here, if there was nothing here? Why would the train stop, and why would this stop bear its own name? It means only one thing – there is something here, it's just that I don't see it. How do I see it then? How? Think.

I guess I have, after all, made a m...

Shut up. Think. Think! Think.

Think...

I could not think of anything. I opened my eyes and saw the same white sand all around me, dusty whirls of wind rolling past.

I did, however, notice something weird further in the distance.