The train carried the night from one depot to another, from city to city. People stood on the platform.
Some of them needed the night.
Others were simply there for the strangeness of the spectacle. They had never witnessed it before. It would be something that they would tell their children when the night was completely used up and gone, when the concept of dark nights would be a foreign concept.
The train drove through the day’s blazing light. Night lay under a heavy tarp on a flatbed. Rumor was that night felt like cashmere. It felt like a daydream. It felt like forgotten memories.
Sometimes it felt like hope.
The train stopped at depot after depot. People ran to the flatbed and were pushed back with “One at a time!” They formed lines that would have made Walt Disney World jealous. Such length. Such order.
Such hunger for the comfort of night’s feel. Its touch. Its warmth and its cool.
Some were content with a touch.
Others needed a pinch of it to take home.
Others needed a cupful.
Others demanded a full armful.
Little by little, the night became smaller and shorter and somehow not as dark. It became more and more like day.
Until one day, someone took the last pinch of night.
And night was gone for good.
And it was always day.