The Ticket's Warning
The steel rails sing a forgotten song, a rhythm only the trembling can hear. When the third train passes but does not stop, know that the gate has been unlatched.
They will come from between the clicks of the track, wearing the faces of those you see every day but never notice. The woman with the too-red scarf. The man who reads his newspaper upside down. They are the hollow ones.
A voice of honey and static will rise from the third rail, promising a world without rust or decay. It is the sweet lie of the Dreamers, offered to a city of concrete and sleepwalkers.
Do not listen. Cover your ears with the buzzing in your own blood. When the lights flicker to the beat of a dying heart, find the door marked with a spiral and step through. The train you seek does not run on these tracks.
[Source: Found scrawled on the back of a discarded Zone 4 metro ticket, London Underground.]
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