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The train arrived at 11:11 PM. It was made of black iron and steam, and the conductor was a skeleton in a very smart uniform.
Arthur boarded. He didn't remember buying a ticket, but he found one in his pocket. Destination: The End of the Line.
The car was full. A soldier sat cleaning a spectral rifle. A grandmother knitted with yarn made of moonlight. A cat slept on the luggage rack.
"Is this...?" Arthur asked the conductor.
"The Night Train? Yes," the skeleton clicked. "Tickets, please."
Arthur handed over his ticket. "Am I dead?"
"That is a philosophical question," the conductor said. "You are certainly not currently breathing."
Arthur looked out the window. They were passing through a landscape of memories. He saw his childhood home. He saw his first kiss. He saw the time he tripped in front of his boss.
"Do we have to watch the embarrassing parts?" he asked.
"It is part of the processing," the grandmother said kindly. "You have to let go of the cringe to find peace."
The train slowed. "Stop number one: Regret!" the conductor shouted.
The soldier stood up. He looked out at a battlefield. He sighed, shouldered his rifle, and got off. As he stepped onto the platform, the rifle turned into a bouquet of flowers.
The train moved on. "Stop number two: Love!"
The grandmother packed her knitting. She saw a young man waiting on the platform. She turned into a young woman as she ran into his arms.
Finally, the train stopped in a quiet meadow. "Stop number three: Acceptance."
Arthur looked out. There was nothing there. Just grass, a blue sky, and a bench.
"Is this it?" Arthur asked.
"It is whatever you want it to be," the conductor said.
Arthur stepped off. The air smelled of rain and old books. He sat on the bench. He felt light. The weight of his job, his bills, his worries—it was all gone.
"Not bad," Arthur said, closing his eyes. "Not bad at all."