The trains ran same as ever.
Down through a stretch of the Old Coast, over Heathrow Bridge, and through a tunnel, gone for good.
Same as it ever was.
They used to carry the instruments; cattle, stock, steel; the tools to create society.
In the last year, nobody's gone down the Old Coast; the roads that wind just past the beach have been empty. The trains on the tracks just above and beyond the hills, same as ever, though. The Old Coast was emptied out for good. Life has become slower. The cattle and stock and steel never stopped here, but they were missed nonetheless, as if those trains ever provided us the nourishment.
Heathrow Bridge wasn't named that because this is Heathrow; the old governor simply named it after his granddad. It never mattered what the bridge was called, or what purpose it served outside of shifting cattle, stock, and steel: It belongs to the rails, and the rails belonged to the national network. You stepped into them, and you stepped into something far bigger than yourself, but it felt like a miniscule, unseeming part of that something bigger. Just a bridge, just some pieces of rail. I could've birthed a person on that bridge and it wouldn't give it any more signifcance beyond its connection to the rails, which gives it a connection to the national network.
It would serve the same purpose as ever: Connect to the rails. The network's a bit diferent now, though. The Old Coast's cars have gone, and so have its people; the name was now only for the few who were left. And the cartographers. I had lost my humanity.
Think I remember somebody who might still remember the name. Hale-Bopp; a person of my past. When the people left, he was with them. I heard they had been caught altogether. When a train goes over Heathrow now, it's likely going to the new citadel. I think I had gone with the people, too?
The trains weren't the same; same as the network. Not that the network and the trains were now the same, but that they're the same in the sense that they're both diferent. The national network was co-opted now. The concept of the nation-state was historically defunct, and so the network was repurposed accordingly. It was a big year. I hadn't given birth on that bridge, but there Hale-Bopp gave me a baby to care for.
So now the trains are diferent: New designs, new models. They're alien in nature. I suppose their purpose isn't, though. They didn't serve cattle, stock, or steel to the national economy. Again, the national economy relied on the concept of the nation-state; now defunct. Every train now had passengers instead, so when the people were caught leaving, they were brought aboard. The citadel is surely bustling. I remember taking over a consciousness; these aren't my memories.
Trains never come out the tunnel onto Heathrow. Always into it and towards the citadel. Likely some other route they take to leave it; their new route keeps the tracks one-directional. At least that's what we have now; trains on time. I suppose I wasn't the baby, either.
So I guess the trains don't run same as ever. Their cargo diferent, their destination new, their route changed. Today the Old Coast is mine alone, and rumors circulate over radio of freedom. I don't know if we want that. They pulled me apart, sounded like they needed service from a local.
The trains never stopped here until early last year; national network, defunct, et cetera. Since then, they still don't stop here, but on one occasion I was fortunate to see, Heathrow changed: It served as a boarding platform. The bridge has these accessibility features so civil engineers and their equipment can make it on and do the maintenance work that's needed. The rest of the track was harder to reach by foot, comparatively. So the trains stopped at Heathrow when the people were caught. There they boarded. I remember boarding for the citadel, but if I'm still here, I guess not.
I suppose the trains don't run the same as ever. Conductors have to be aware that Heathrow's a stop, now. Haven't seen the trains stop there since, though. The national network is defunct, the cargo is diferent, the destination is new, the route is changed, and Heathrow is a stop now. Think I'm an occupier now. Don't think I'm myself, either; when asked to point at where my consciousness is, where my soul is, I used to point at my head: It felt as if I saw the world and existed from behind my eyes, and that's where my self must have been. Nowadays I point to my chest; something's tugging me down. They wanted to meld two minds together. They didn't understand how humanity works; the thoughts are foggy now. Feels like I have company, though. Nothing's been the same since I was let back here. Again, big year.