The woman sat by the window, watching the landscape pass by. She didn´t speak to anyone, lost in her own thoughts. She had come a long way, witnessed many people stare into their personal abysses and willingly leap into them. Everyone had found their stop, and she knew hers was near. Surprisingly, she felt neither fear nor relief. The only thing she felt was calmness. She was ready for whatever was to come.

The train began to slow down. In the distance, the woman noticed a tunnel approaching. It was dark, and it was drawing closer. She couldn't recall traveling through a tunnel at any point in her journey. This was the first time. Was her stop beyond the mountain or inside it? What could a stop inside a mountain look like? A lot of darkness and unease probably. Could this really be her stop?

The train continued to slow but not enough to halt before it entered the tunnel, and the two passengers were carried into the darkness.

Contrary to her expectations, the absence of light did not feel threatening or oppressive. In fact, it had no effect on the woman at all. Perhaps it was because the train’s interior lights flickered on as soon as they entered the tunnel, bathing the entire carriage in a golden glow.

With a gentle jolt, the train came to a halt. Puzzled, the woman glanced away from the blackened window and looked around. The train had indeed stopped, seemingly in the middle of the tunnel. She waited for a moment, hoping they would move again, but nothing happened. The train remained enveloped in golden light and silence. Hesitantly, she stood and made her way to the door. Even if she did not want to stay in a tunnel, she did want to see what kind of stop this was.

Standing in front of the exit she waited patiently for the doors to open with a hiss like they had done so many times before, but the mechanism didn’t budge. Behind them there didn’t seem to be anything either, because no matter how close she came to the glass separating her from the outside, the only thing she could see was total darkness enveloping the train like a thick blanket. Was this even a stop? And if not, would they ever start moving again?

Puzzled she decided to ask the only other remaining passenger for help.

The girl sat curled up in her seat, her gaze fixed firmly on her feet. The woman wanted to speak to her but refrained when she saw the girl was lost in her own world, oblivious to her surroundings. With a sigh, the woman decided to investigate the problem herself. Turning toward the front of the train, where she assumed the conductor or driver would be, she began walking.

She left her carriage and passed through the double doors into the next one. As expected, it was completely empty. She continued her small journey into the next carriage, and the next, and the next. The train seemed to have no end—or at least, it didn’t want to end on this side. For when she finally gave up and turned around to go back, she found herself standing directly in front of her own carriage again.

Irritated, she rolled her eyes, stepped through the glass door, and decided to walk in the opposite direction.

As she passed through carriage after carriage, her thoughts wandered to the passengers she had met on her journey. The girl, still sitting in their shared carriage—filled with doubt and regret, was the first one to come to mind. She wasn't a bad person, but she was being punished for her indecision. The elderly lady had stirred her sympathy just as much as the girl. She had been warm, loving, and radiant like sunshine. She had cared deeply for the people around her and loved her family as fiercely as a person could. Perhaps too fiercely.

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Then there was the man who wanted more train tickets. Was greed a crime? He might have lacked moderation, but the desire for more was an instinct for survival, not a sin. And despite his small flaw, he had never lost his balance. He was a decent man.

The tourist had chased a dream of her youth. Yes, she may have gone overboard. Yes, she was a bit self-centered at first, but who isn’t? We all love to talk about ourselves and place ourselves at the center. That’s human.

Even the little boy had neither broken any rules nor committed any crimes. He had only been naive. Spending his whole life waiting for one person didn’t just show immaturity or perhaps foolishness, but also determination, perseverance, and optimism. Were those not positive traits?

All these people had their flaws. Some were more serious, others easier to overlook. But these flaws had already punished them enough in life. Because of them, relationships had fallen apart, loneliness crept in, and cracks had formed in the fragile happiness they had built. Above all, they punished themselves for it. They were aware of their imperfections and hated themselves for it. Did they really need to be tormented any further? They didn’t deserve their stops. These were only cracks on the surface of their vases—nothing that made them ugly or deserving of being discarded.

As the woman reached out her hand, she realized something was different about the door ahead of her. The glass pane that all doors had and through which one could see into the next carriage, was missing. There was no passenger carriage beyond this door. And indeed, as she slid the door aside, she found herself in the control cabin—the place where the conductor or driver should have been.

It was empty.

The woman stepped into the room, approaching the control panel. It was fitted with various levers, differently sized dials, and buttons. On one of the levers lay a conductor’s hat, and right beside it, one of those ticket-punching devices conductors always carried. Confused, the woman reached for the hat but froze mid-motion as a realization struck her.

She had arrived. She had found her stop. Her journey ended here.

For a moment she hesitated, but she knew it was too late. She had had her opportunities, and she had ignored them all. A strange feeling of melancholy settled over her, as she reached for the hat again and took it off the lever. The train gave a jolt and began to move. Through the glass pane ahead of her, she could see only the blackness of the tunnel at first, but soon, a small, bright spot appeared in the distance. The light grew larger and larger until it became a picture. Green grass lined the rusty brown tracks, and about a meter above them, there was a platform bustling with waiting passengers.

Most of them had led lives that were, to some extent, fulfilling—lives they could look back on with only little regret. They were decent people, empathetic, warm, and flawed. For each of them, a stop waited at the end of their sometimes very long, sometimes very short journeys.

None of the stops would make them happy forever.

But no god, higher power, or law punished them for their transgressions. They punished themselves. They knew their flaws, their cracks, and hated themselves for them. Their own consciences crafted their stops, and they would choose it, no matter how many tickets they would acquire or how many times they might overthink their decisions.

The woman placed the hat on her head and took the ticket-punching device in hand. She glanced over the boarding passengers crowding the platform. She knew who they were, what they had done and failed to do just how she had known throughout the whole journey. She knew their pasts, their presents, and their futures, and she knew where they would get off and what awaited them. She knew of their torment, which they themselves had yet to realize, and she empathized with them as if they were her closest friends.

Most of all, she knew about the crack on her own vase.

She had never interfered.

There had been opportunities, many ways to help those around her. She had known what awaited them, what they felt and what they feared. But not once did she decide to change the outcome of their journey. And now she never would. She would remain a silent observer, just as she had always been.

Taking a deep breath, the green-eyed woman with short black hair opened the door to the first carriage. With the ticket puncher in her hand and the conductor’s hat on her head, she looked into the expectant eyes of the passengers.

She had gotten off, and the train had departed.