Off the rails

It’s Friday, 6pm. You’re sitting in a crowded train carriage, on your way to see your parents for the weekend. You’re glad you booked your ticket in advance, because every seat is taken and you can see people standing in the claustrophobic space [[between this carriage and the next]].

As you pass through the first station on the route, you feel your shoulders start to relax. [[Take in your surroundings]]

You’re in the window seat – another small victory – and there’s a woman sat next to you, reading a magazine about baking. She must be sleepy, because she’s nearly dropped it twice and you’re only 20 minutes into the journey. [[Sneak a peek at her]] [[Mind your own business]]

You’re not brazen enough to take a good look at her face, but she seems to be in her late forties or early fifties, and she’s dressed smartly. [[Mind your own business]]

You wonder what she might do for a living, before remembering that you need to send a text message to your dad, letting him know you’re on your way. You don’t want him to worry; he seems to worry far too much these days. It is hard to blame him. He must miss your brother and their only grandchild. He never mentions it, of course. And you’re too tired to bring it up with him again. [[Or too afraid]].

There’s no way to talk about it without someone getting upset, and you feel like there’s only so much you can achieve by telling him to stop being so stubborn and pick up the bloody phone. [[Be optimistic]] [[Be realistic]]

Maybe, if you really try, you can summon the energy to bring it up this weekend, force some kind of ultimatum out of them, some commitment to change. You feel exhausted just thinking about it. Besides, it's not your fight to have. [[Be realistic]]

This will be a weekend of not talking about it. Not talking about anything of real consequence, nothing that might involve feelings, or behaviours that could be improved. None of that. Instead, these conversations will be replaced by frequent cups of tea and [[all the chocolate biscuits you can eat]].

Perhaps they think if they feed you enough, you’ll split in half, becoming two siblings again. Only this time, their other child will be sweet and obedient, agreeing to anything in exchange for another cup of milky tea and a supermarket own-label biscuit from the stripy tin. [[Snap out of it]]

A theory like that can only mean one thing. You’re hungry. It’s time for one of your favourite rituals, [[the train picnic]].

You lower the table from the seat-back in front of you. It creaks loudly, as if it hasn’t been used for months. You’re relieved to see it’s lacking the usual layer of crumbs and filth, although you wouldn’t mind wiping it down with something antiseptic. You set out your picnic, surveying it expectantly before a pang of irritation – where’s your bottle of water? [[Disassemble your picnic]]

The picnic is removed from the table, the table pushed upwards with that terrible creak, so you can rummage freely in your bag for that elusive bottle. {(live: 5.0s)[ There it is. (stop:) ]} {(live: 6.5s)[ Table down again. (stop:) ]} {(live: 8.0s)[ Creak. (stop:) ]} {(live: 9.5s)[ Picnic assembled again. (stop:) ]} {(live: 11.0s)[ [[Peace.]] (stop:) ]}

You wish the picnic would last longer, but you know it will be gone well before the halfway point of your journey. There’s nothing quite so cosy as settling in for a long train trip with a sizeable picnic, something entertaining to read, and a window to gaze out of while [[your mind drifts]].

You wish you weren’t [[alone]].

No. Stop that. Besides, you’re not alone. You’ve got the sleepy baking lady for company. She’s given up all pretence of reading, her gentle snores broken every now and then as she jerks awake, adjusts the magazine in her lap and nods off once more. [[Eat your sandwich]] [[Observe the other passengers]]

As you munch your way through the squidgy-crunchy sandwich, your eyes are drawn to the window. Field after field after field, floating by in a jumble of yellows, greens, and browns. Here and there, a crumbly looking bridge over a small river or canal, and a [[queue of motorway traffic going nowhere]].

You’re slightly amazed the people around you have been able to sustain their noisy, superficial conversations for nearly an hour now. When will they finally fall silent? Are they not boring themselves? Why doesn’t that man’s friend look him straight in the eye and tell him he actually couldn’t give a flying fuck about Arsenal’s chances this weekend? [[Stay calm]]

Back to the window. The light is just starting to fade. Soon you will be gazing at your own reflection as the train’s lighting overwhelms the darkness outside. Another field slides by. You could be anywhere right now. [[Look more closely]]

But there’s something different about this field, you realise, as its edge approaches. There’s a man in it. Right at the edge of it. Facing the train tracks, flanked by tall crops that must be ready for harvesting. [[Look even more closely]]

He doesn’t look like a farmer. Dark trousers. White shirt. Colourful tie, maybe red. Are those pens in his shirt pocket? In the brief moment as you pass him by, his expression is unreadable. He stares, still as a scarecrow, and the field sweeps out of sight. [[Look around the carriage]]

Did anyone else see him? Baking Lady snores. Arsenal Man roars. The few quiet passengers have their heads down, but you can’t tell if they’re sleeping or watching a movie on their phones. [[Worry]] [[Forget about it]]

Self-doubt creeps in. Did you really see him? It doesn’t make any sense. What would he be doing out there, staring at a passing train? Or staring through it. Are you seeing things? Are you really that stressed? [[Worry even more]]

You're probably mistaken. Even if there was a man in the field, so what? He's probably wandered off from some team building activity day after having one too many beers with his mates from work. Probably just wanted to have a piss in peace, when your train sped past and spooked him. You hope he'll find his way back again. [[Get lost in your imagination]]

If you really did see him, is he in danger? Hanging around near train tracks isn't very smart. Come on, there was a big fence between him and the train. He could have been some sort of official inspector, checking the fence. Yes, an official train fence inspector. That's probably a thing. [[Get lost in your imagination]]

Your jumbled thoughts are interrupted by a garbled voice announcing the next stop. Baking Lady jolts awake, finally sending her magazine tumbling under the seat in front. This must be her stop. She snatches up her handbag and jacket, before rushing towards the door. The train starts to slow and a sudden lurch makes her grab a seat to steady herself. For a moment, [[you watch her go]].

She looks stressed, as though missing her stop would be a grave mistake. Probably just flustered from her interrupted nap. She’s peering out of a window by the door, like she’s looking for something or someone. But you’re not at the station yet. [[You check the view]]

All you can see are fields, replaced moments later by houses and shops as the train reaches a crawling pace. Who or what was she looking for? [[You keep staring at her]]

She glances around suddenly and you look away. You shouldn’t be so nosy. But look there. She forgot to pick up her magazine. The front cover calls out to you: ‘Wedding cake in a weekend’; ’10 tips for flawless frosting’; ‘7 deadly cinnamon recipes’. [[Your mouth waters slightly]].

Before you really know what you’re doing, you grab the magazine and your own bag. You’re out of your seat, dashing after Baking Lady, who is stepping down onto the platform. In your hurry, you snag your bag strap on the arm of a seat. [[You try to free your bag]]

Several painful seconds go by as you wrestle with your bag before yanking it free. You look up. Baking Lady is walking into the station. You’ll have to let it go. Your parents are waiting. Worrying. [[Stay on the train]] [[Get off the train]]

The doors close with a thump just inches from your face. Come on. You can't keep running away from reality. You might be able to achieve a lot this weekend if you can just be brave. Trying your best to look calm and confident, [[you walk back to your seat and sit down.]]

The doors are about to close. Beep beep beep beep beep. Fuck it. You jump down onto the platform as the doors beep their last and close behind you with a loud thunk. The train starts to move away. [[Oh shit.]]

Is this how far you’ll go to get out of a weekend with your parents? To avoid politely watching a documentary about bees they thought you might like, because you don’t have the heart to tell them you’d rather read a book? There’s no time to analyse that now. You have a mission to complete. [[Where did Baking Lady go?]]

You head towards the station building, trying to look like alighting here was always your intention. You silently berate yourself for leaving your unopened crisps and chocolate bar on the train. Oh well. They’ll be a treat for the next passenger. Or the cleaner at the end of the day. [[Look for Baking Lady inside the station]]

After a week like this one, having to stand and sway for three hours while trying to tune out conversations being shouted over the noise of the train is unthinkable. And what if you’d been stuck standing outside the bathroom, with no way to escape the regular blasts of urine-and-soap scented air every time the door whirred open? You shudder a little at the thought, thankful for securing this moment of calm after five days of chaos at work. [[Relax]]

You feel a little smug as your train speeds by, even if you do envy the drivers their little bubbles of warmth and safety. Perceived safety anyway. You wouldn’t mind being protected by a box of glass and steel when things get too much. [[Observe the other passengers]]

There’s no sign of Baking Lady in the station, so you walk outside and look around. There she is, walking quickly along a street lined with small terraced houses with small, tidy gardens. [[You start to follow her.]]

Her shoulders are hunched and her head is low as she marches forward as fast as she can in court shoes with two-inch heels. Where is she going in such a hurry? Why do you care? Your mind flashes back to the abandoned chocolate bar and your sweet tooth goes into overdrive. Maybe she’s off to a baking class, or is in a hurry to get going on a recipe from the magazine. A birthday cake for a family party, perhaps? [[Keep moving]]

The houses around you are getting larger, their gardens more landscaped and their gates more imposing. If she lives round here, she’s probably not going to lose much sleep over dropping one glossy magazine. Your pace falters. You could turn back. There’s bound to be another train soon. And besides, it’s starting to get dark. There’ll still be time for a cup of tea before bed if you turn around. Right now. [[Turn around]] [[Keep following Baking Lady]]

You’re steeling yourself for a sheepish walk back to the station, when you hear a phone ringing a little way ahead of you. You pull close to a towering hedge as you watch Baking Lady pull a phone from her handbag and answer it. The phone call is brief, but it seems to give her a burst of energy as she sets off again, almost jogging now. Ok. You’ll [[give her five more minutes]] before turning back.

You're determined to find out what's going on. Just a little bit longer. You'll [[give her five more minutes]]. That seems reasonable.

Wherever she’s leading you, you must be heading out of town. The houses are starting to thin out, and you can just about make out the sign for a golf course up ahead. The few streetlights are starting to throw dramatic shadows as you walk through their orangey haze, transforming you from a giant to a toddler and back again with [[every few strides]].

The five minutes you promised yourself have turned into 10, 15, 20. You’re no longer sure if you could easily find your way back. A few quick turns in a modern-looking housing estate have left you stalking Baking Lady up a country lane, leaving the town behind you. You can’t say with any degree of confidence which direction you’re heading in, but she seems to know where her destination lies. You hope you’ll get there soon. [[Stay focused]]

As you’ve been walking, you’ve come up with a pretty watertight plan (if you do say so yourself). When Baking Lady gets where she’s going, you’ll wait until she’s safely inside, creep as close as you can to the door and leave the magazine on the ground outside. She’ll come out later, presume she dropped it, and that will be that. No need for explanations or awkwardness. It’s a good plan. As long as she doesn’t [[turn around]].

Oh shit. She’s turning around. Your phone is ringing. It’s on vibrate mode (you didn’t want to disturb your fellow train passengers, a concern that Arsenal Man certainly didn’t share), but it’s buzzing against your sunglasses case. It sounds like a cacophony in the peaceful darkness. [[Can she see you?]]

It’s a couple of minutes since the streetlights ran out, but you could be silhouetted against the lights of the town behind you. Stay still. Or maybe keep moving? If she can see you, you don’t want to look even more suspicious than you already do. [[Don't panic]] [[Panic]]

Still. Calm. You are the epitomy of stealth. You are ninja. Have you convinced yourself yet? [[Take a deep breath]]

Why oh why did you get yourself into this mess? If you’d caught up with her straight away, you’d be close to home now. You wish you’d stayed on the train. Going through the motions with your parents for two days isn’t much fun, but it has to be better than turning into an obsessive magazine courier stalking a stranger in the darkness. Your therapist is going to love this. [[Take a deep breath]]

The buzzing has stopped. Sorry Dad. You’ll call him as soon as you can. You’d better think of an excuse that won’t make him regret inviting you over. The truth is not an option. Maybe he’s right to worry about you. [[See if the coast is clear]]

Baking Lady starts to move again, but more slowly than before. She stops every couple of minutes to look around her and listen. Either she’s looking for signs of her destination, or she thinks she’s being followed. Could be both. You start crouching a little and pay more attention to your footsteps. Softer and softer. [[Don’t tread on a snail]].

You’re so focused on being quiet that you don’t notice her pace slowing and slowing. You look up from your feet and suddenly she’s right in front of you, a few paces away. {(live: 5s)[ She stops.(stop:) ]} {(live: 7.5s)[ Straightens her back.(stop:) ]} {(live: 10s)[ [[Turns around.]](stop:) ]}

It’s almost pitch black out here, but you can still tell that she’s looking right at you. She fumbles in her pocket and suddenly a bright light strikes you full in the face. The torch on her phone. [[Your eyes adjust to the light]].

For a moment, you consider acting offended and telling her to move out of your way. Act like you always skulk around this country road at night. [[Are you a good enough liar?]]

You're ready for some serious play-acting. But her suspicious gaze alights on the magazine you’ve been clutching in your hand for the last hour. You prepare yourself for the inevitable awkward explanation, when she suddenly whispers: [[“You got the message too?”]]

Say no. Say no. Tell her you don’t know what she’s talking about. End this madness and do it now. [[Say yes]] [[Say no]]

“Y-yes”, you finally stammer. Her look of nervous concern is instantly replaced by the smile of someone greeting an old friend. “Let’s walk together. I don’t think it’s that much further, and I hate walking alone after dark.” [[What have you agreed to now?]]

"No, I didn't get any message", you tell her. Her expression changes from nervous concern to one of disappointment, quickly replaced by confusion. "So why are you carrying that magazine?" [[You try to explain yourself.]]

Any opportunity for explaining yourself has vanished. You’re going to have to give in to your curiosity and find out what message the baking magazine could possibly contain. An advert for a late-night sale of illegal food colourings? Sugar-flower making lessons reserved only for those smart enough to decode an elaborate riddle? You haven’t got the slightest clue, but you don’t want Baking Lady to know that. [[“I’m Mary”, she says.]]

You tell her your name and fall silent, unwilling to give too much away. She seems full of anticipation and you don’t want to disappoint her. [[Together you march on in silence.]]

Around you, you can make out fields of tall crops that whisper in the slight breeze. An occasional car whizzes past, robbing you of the little night vision you have for a few moments. It’s starting to get chilly. When did you last use a toilet? You don’t remember. Your thoughts drift to the chocolate bar again. You hope the supermarket will still be open when you get back to town. [[You carry on.]]

The oppressive fields on either side of the lane make you feel uncomfortable. Are you being watched? You catch yourself imagining shadows against shadows, melting away as you approach. You mustn’t forget; you’re the spy here. No wonder you feel paranoid. [[You're overthinking things.]]

You’re bound to be on your way to some publicity stunt for a new stand mixer, where the latest celebrity chef sensation will slide through a barn roof from a helicopter and try to convince a crowd of cake creators to buy the only mixer officially endorsed by the SAS. Or maybe you’ve been working in marketing for too long. Whatever it is, [[you’re not the only ones on the move]].

First you notice a solitary woman walking a little way in front of you, head bowed, carrying a small shoulder bag that keeps slipping down. Then there’s the murmur of quiet conversation from behind. Sounds like there’s at least three people back there. [[Somewhere]].

After another 15 minutes, you and Baking Lady are part of a stream of pedestrians (and one intrepid cyclist in full high visibility gear) all moving in the same direction with an air of steady determination. [[The gentle onward momentum is contagious]]

You have no idea what the mysterious message was, but you’re beginning to believe you were meant to receive it. [[Worry about your dad worrying about you]] [[Push on into the night]]

Your dad will understand. Your parents brought you up to grasp every opportunity with both hands, and that’s exactly what you’re doing. He should be proud you’re finally taking his advice. A slideshow of missed opportunities flashes through your mind. You shake your head, hoping to dislodge the memories. [[Push on into the night]]

Finally. The towering crops give way to a wide-open space. The flickering lights of a dozen small towns are spread out beneath you. You hadn’t even noticed the steady climb since you left the station. How long ago was that? [[You've lost track]]

You hear the rumble of a passing train, not that far from you. A welcome flood of moonlight turns the landscape silver as the sky clears. You can make out people coming in ones, twos, and threes from the opposite direction. A man steps over a stile to your right, moving slowly without a sound. A public footpath. You should come hiking here some time. Baking Lady stops in front of a farm gate and [[looks beyond]].

“This must be it. Are you ready?” You nod. Together you push the gate open, holding it for a few moments to let a small crowd of fellow wanderers come inside. A narrow gravel track leads over the brow of a hill. A yellow glow seems to be coming from [[the other side]].

You fight the urge to run up and over the hill as your curiosity goes wild. A quick glance at Baking Lady tells you that she’s just as full of anticipation. Surely no-one could be this excited about a new cupcake recipe? [[Just be patient for a little longer.]]

If it is a product launch, you can almost guarantee a decent buffet of samples and other refreshments. Stuff your face, find the bathroom, and make a hasty, inconspicuous retreat. You reach the top of the hill and [[look down]].

Ok. This must be something major. [[But what?]]

A huge marquee has been set up in the middle of a little meadow, surrounded by low hills on all sides. You wouldn’t be able to see it until you were right on top of it. And you’re right on top of it now. The marquee glows from within, with a little light spilling out through an opening in the side. Against the light you can see the shadows of dozens of people. [[Move closer]]

As you get closer, you can see a crowd of people sat in neat rows of chairs, facing away from you. At last it’s bright enough to see Baking Lady in full colour again. She looks joyful, exchanging smiles and nods with the people around you. You’re all drawn to the opening. [[And you’re in.]]

Holy moly. There are easily a thousand people packed into the marquee. Row upon row upon row of people. Apart from the first three rows, closest to a simple wooden stage. Those front rows are completely empty, and no-one approaches them. [[Look around the marquee]]

With so many excited people gathered in one space, you’d expect it to be much noisier. But the few people who are chatting do so in happy whispers, while the majority simply sit in silence, facing the stage. [[Eavesdrop.]] [[Try to work out what's going on.]]

If this is a publicity stunt, it’s very low key. There are no banners, no-one dressed in branded clothes, no-one handing out flyers, no music, no PA system playing noisy jingles. No-one seems to be in charge. It’s just a tent full of people and an empty stage. [[You stand and stare.]]

Baking Lady pulls you gently to one side to let a couple of attendees walk past. “Let’s find a seat. It’s nearly time”. You don’t argue, happy to be led by the arm to a couple of chairs [[near the back of the room]].

You’re not sure you’ll be able to see everything (whatever everything will be), but at least it’s easier to exit quickly from here if it all gets a bit weird. [[You sit down next to Baking Lady.]]

While it’s not a noisy room, you can still notice a sudden silence spreading through the tent like a wave. This is it. [[Showtime.]]

A man steps onto the stage. You peer closely at him. It can’t be. Are you seeing things again? [[It’s him.]]

The man you glimpsed from the train, standing in a field. He stands as still as a scarecrow, just like before. But now he smiles, gazing down at the crowd below him. He raises his arms in [[welcome]].

“Blessed are the meek” he proclaims. “Blessed are the meek” replies Baking Lady, in perfect unison with the assembled crowd. Uh oh. [[What kind of baking convention is this?]]

Of all the possible scenarios you’ve been imagining as you scampered along with Baking Lady, a secret gathering of religious fanatics wasn’t one of them. [[You need to get out.]]

10 years of catholic school was enough religion for you, thank you very much. How can you leave without being noticed? Everyone is sitting so quietly, staring up at the man on the stage with joy in their eyes. They are enraptured. You’ve never had much use for the term before, but you can see it clearly here. Enraptured. [[He speaks once more.]]

“Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth. You have all heard this before. How many times? How many times have you been told to be good, be polite, don’t make a fuss? Be meek, and one day you will be rewarded. But where is your reward? When exactly will you inherit the earth?" There are a few murmurs from the crowd as the people around you shift in their seats. [[Your curiosity grows.]]

A smattering of polite applause gradually increases. A woman dressed like a waitress stands up as she applauds. Those around her look nervously at each other, before [[rising from their seats to join her]].

This is the first time you’ve ever felt comfortable in a crowd, after years of avoiding anything that even threatened to be noisy or boisterous. If you had just walked into the marquee, you would turn on your heel and run. But the things he said. [[He spoke to something inside of you.]]

All your life you’ve been told to be quiet, wait your turn, sit still, don’t take up too much space, hold doors for people, respect the holy art of queuing, don’t boast, don’t draw attention to yourself or laugh too loudly, don’t be too ambitious. You have nothing against treating other people with respect, but making yourself small, inoffensive, inconspicuous; it’s almost an obsession for you, an illness. [[You’re done being sick.]]

This man, this serious, angry man, has spoken to your soul. [[You’re ready to hear more]].

He raises his arms again and the temporary madness subsides. You take your seat and notice your hands are shaking. See. You’ve gotten carried away. Too excited. Stay in control. [[The man waits for silence before speaking again.]]

“I know this will be hard. Many of you will need to ignore your every instinct, every part of you that makes you meek. Some will even need to behave just as badly as them. Those over-confident women. Those alpha males. It will feel uncomfortable and it will feel wrong. “But this is only temporary. Our battle will be short and effective. When our objectives are achieved, you can go back to your meek ways once more. And it will be beautiful, living together on our new, meek earth." He pauses, giving you the chance to imagine such a world. [[A meek world.]]

"I am asking you to make a short-term sacrifice, to help me rid the earth of rudeness, laziness, and destructiveness. “It will be difficult. It will be dangerous. But we are many, and we will succeed. No-one will stand in the way of the Mighty Meek. So join with me, sales assistants, stamp collectors, birdwatchers, cake decorators (Baking Lady stiffens in her seat beside you), teaching assistants, secretaries, accountants, and baristas. Join with me and inherit your share of the earth.” [[This time there is no hesitation.]]

The whole room is on its feet, cheering and clapping more loudly than any rowdy football crowd. You’re fascinated by the transformation, turning so quickly from an attentive audience to a roaring army in under half an hour. Not bad. You envy his public speaking skills. Is he really shaking inside, as you would be if you had to talk to a crowd this size? He must be, if he really is one of the meek. [[His courage is remarkable.]]

You’re not surprised by his organisational skills, however. Meek people might not usually scream and shout, but they do know how to plan. You wonder again what the hidden message was. Baking Lady found hers in a cake magazine, but what about the others? Special interest magazines, hobby forums, subliminal messages in nature documentaries? Hang on. [[Take a couple of deep breaths.]]

Did he say battle? What exactly does he expect you to do? Forcibly re-educate millions of people to stop behaving like assholes? You must be misunderstanding him. Perhaps a stern letter-writing campaign to local MPs is closer to what he has in mind. [[You glance again at the crowd around you.]]

Baking Lady’s face is contorted as she cries, ‘Blessed are the meek’ over and over. It doesn’t look like she’s planning to wage this particular war from behind a typewriter. [[The man has disappeared from view.]]

Wait. He’s coming back, pulling someone along behind him. Someone with a sack over their head. [[A stunned silence falls.]]

The man glances at his audience before removing the sack with a flourish. It’s a businessman. Is he a prisoner? He blinks and stares out at the crowd, row upon row of stern faces staring back at him. He’s dressed in a smart suit, dotted here and there with bits of straw from wherever he’s been kept until now. He looks confused and afraid, but clearly doesn’t want to show it. [[You have a very bad feeling in your stomach.]]

You sneak a look at Baking Lady. She seems to be holding her breath. [[The man from the field is ready to speak.]]

“This confident man makes a living by exploiting the meek. He runs a call centre filled with workers who target only the elderly, the frail. These workers trick the meek into buying subscriptions for a worthless magazine, pretending their money will go to a good cause. Hundreds of pounds a year for a bundle of paper and staples filled with nonsense about non-existent development projects in far off lands." A roar of disapproval goes up from the crowd. [[You stare in silence.]]

“I am like you. I am meek. It pains me to take such drastic action. To punish. But justice must be done. We have no choice. He will not learn. He will not change. Unless we first lead the way. Blessed are the meek.” [[He takes a step away from the businessman.]]

Suddenly there is a pistol in his hand. His prisoner spots it and turns to run. The man from the field hesitates, surprised. A look of pain passes over his face – you think you can see it just for a split second – then he raises his arm and fires the pistol. His prisoner falls heavily onto the seats in the empty front row. [[He’s dead.]]

He’s dead. You just witnessed a murder. Your brain is screaming at you, willing you to turn and run. Call the police. Call your dad. Get out of here. Get out. [[But you're frozen in your seat.]]

Those around you must be feeling the same thing. Any moment now, one of them will get up, go outside and call the police. Someone will stand up and condemn the man on the stage, who is standing so still, holding the pistol out in front of him and staring at it. Is that disbelief on his face? Fear? You’re too far away to be sure. [[Nobody moves.]]

Silence. You start to feel like you’re all frozen in place, under the spell of terror and pure shock. This is outrageous. [[It can’t be happening.]]

You tell yourself you’re still on the train. You fell asleep, that’s all. [[Yes, that must be it.]]

Your fervent wishing is interrupted by a voice from the stage, shaky at first, but [[growing stronger with every word]].

“We had no choice. We could not let him escape punishment. I did not intend for his punishment to be so drastic, so… permanent, but it is done and we must accept the consequences. I must accept the consequences. My name is Dr Brian Clark and I am meek. I will do whatever it takes to further our cause, and I expect the same from each of you.” Brian Clark. A rather mundane name for a cold-blooded killer and [[possible lunatic]].

Maybe that’s not fair. He’s meek after all. This must be very difficult for him, so you should give him the benefit of the doubt. He’s only being brave for the sake of the rest of us. If he was by himself, you’re sure he would be on his knees, [[his body racked by sobs of regret]].

He didn’t mean to kill, but to punish. To educate. [[He’s trying to help us.]]

You don’t wait to find out. Instead, you find yourself rising from your seat, addressing the crowd. [[You wish they wouldn't stare.]]

“If we’re going to do this, we shouldn’t be monsters. If we sink to the level of the rude, the liars, the violent, we make a mockery of our own meekness. Exactly how much blood are you planning to shed?” As you speak, you try to ignore the hundreds of questioning faces turned in your direction. [[It's not easy.]]

You focus on him, the man from the field, Dr Clark. You talk directly to him. Were you loud enough? Could he even hear what you said? He nods, closes his eyes for a moment as if [[contemplating your question]].

“How much blood? As little as possible. But to them, the others, it will seem as though the blood will never stop flowing, as if we will stop at nothing to achieve our goals. You see, violence will be a tool. A tool we will use to start a psychological war. We will make them fear the meek.” [[A wave of nausea forces you back into your seat.]]

A man as close to the front row as a meek person would dare to be suddenly stands up. He’s wearing a Star Wars t-shirt, the slogan on the back doctored to read ‘May the meek be with you’. [[He clears his throat.]]

“Excuse me, Dr Clark, but how can we possibly make anyone fear us? There’s a reason we’re meek, a reason we’re so easily downtrodden. I’m terrified of confrontation, of any kind of social awkwardness, of courting attention. I’m not frightening. I’m frightened! Standing up right now and talking to you, well, I can only manage that because everyone else here is meek. No-one here will judge me, or that’s my hope at least.” [[Brian smiles warmly at the Star Wars fan.]]

“Of course, you are right. Both of you are right. We will achieve nothing if we attempt to transform ourselves into senseless killing machines. Fortunately, there are other ways to terrorise the others into submitting to our meeker ways. We are meek, but we are intelligent. Smarter than the others. And we know how to be meek better than anyone else." [[He seems a little smug for someone who claims to be meek.]]

“My strategy is simple. Those of us who are brave enough, committed enough, will wage a campaign of attacks. We will target events and gathering places favoured by the others. Noisy sports bars on a Friday night. Fashion shops opening early for a sale, when the others clamber over each other in pursuit of what they call a bargain. Crowded beaches where music blares and discarded rubbish is left to blow into the sea." He raises his voice to be heard over a rising tide of dissent in the crowd. [[He is determined to be listened to.]]

“But understand me. All of the casualties will be the meek, disguised as the unmeek. We will need volunteers to act convincingly as the others and put themselves in harm’s way. "See, we will not descend to their level. We will sacrifice ourselves for the cause. So, while the others will not be in physical danger, the mental trauma will be huge. Every attack will be loudly claimed by the Mighty Meek, and we will make ourselves known." The Mighty Meek. You don't know whether to laugh or cry. But you still can't move from your seat, so [[you keep listening]].

“Each and every one of you will take your usual meekness and magnify it, exaggerate it until you are wearing your meekness so clearly that even the thoughtless others will notice it. And they will notice it. They will think of the violence. Of the Mighty Meek. And they will be afraid." [[Are you sure you aren't imagining all of this?]]

“Every time you hold a door for someone, you’ll hold it a little longer than necessary, smile a little more sweetly as you do so, striking terror into the hearts of any others who pass through. Because they will notice you now. "They will learn to notice you. Then they will learn to fear you. Then they will learn to imitate you. They will start queuing politely, start speaking more quietly, start showing respect to the people around them. They will want to protect themselves from harm by appearing to be meek." Dr Clark seems so confident. The dissent in the room has started to fade. [[Can people forget a murder so quickly?]]

“My friends, the final stage will be beautiful. After some months of copying your behaviours out of simple fear, they will not even notice as these behaviours become more natural, unconscious. They won’t need to keep remembering to be respectful. They will simply be respectful. Every single one of them. Our war will be won and our inheritance will be complete.” Well. [[That’s some crooked, beautiful, horrific logic right there.]]

You still know that the smart thing to do is to get out of this place and report the mad battle plan to the authorities. But the idea of a world filled with respectful people is extremely seductive. Could the plan actually work? No, of course not. People are much more complex and stubborn than Dr Clark seems to realise. And yet. [[It could be worth a try.]]

What else were you planning to do with the rest of your life anyway? The prospect of 30 more years working for pushy, rude and arrogant people sends a wave of depression washing over you. [[You can’t face it.]]

And think about it. If you’re involved, you can help keep any violence to a minimum, while using the few useful skills you’ve acquired from a career in marketing to magnify the terror and raise awareness of weaponised meekness. You could make a difference here, for maybe the first time in your life. You could, [[but you can’t]].

You can’t condone violence. No matter how noble the cause may seem. [[Are you the only one who feels this way?]]

You’re still standing, with plenty of faces turned towards you, as if looking for an answer. Many more are looking down, down at their hands. No doubt contemplating the same dilemma as you. [[Stay or go?]]

You take a deep breath and turn towards the exit. Time to go. [[Walk out of the marquee]] [[Run out of the marquee]]

As you turn, a gasp erupts from the crowd and your heart stops. Are they shocked by you? [[Will you be the next to be punished?]]

You run, rushing as fast as you can past the few seats between you and the exit. You don't look back, not when Baking Lady calls your name, not when a gasp of horror goes up from the crowd, not even when you've left the marquee behind you and made it over the brow of the hill. [[You stop to catch your breath.]]

You look towards the stage, expecting to be condemned. Instead, [[you see the real cause of the gasp]].

The corrupt call centre owner. The dead, corrupt call centre owner. He is standing, smiling at Dr Clark and [[shaking his hand]].

You grab the chair in front to steady yourself, before collapsing into the seat next to Baking Lady. Tears start to stream down her astonished face. Shock. Relief. Joy. Dr Clark addresses the crowd again. This time there is no mistaking his expression. [[Triumph.]]

“Blessed are the meek! For we shall deceive the earth! You have just witnessed our first false attack. Were you not convinced? Were you not horrified? I am deeply sorry for putting you through such heartache, but I had to show you the power we can wield with our strongest weapon. Our minds." [[Your mind is reeling.]]

“I am still asking you to make genuine sacrifices, but I will not allow any of you to be harmed. We have the skills and knowledge to outsmart the others, to terrorise them into creating a utopia without spilling a drop of blood. You will not die, but the others must believe in your death. Believe you were just like them. "When you play the role of victim in our false attacks, you must commit. Your friends. Your loved ones. They will believe in your death. You will not see them again. That is the sacrifice we must all make, together. The Mighty Meek are your new family, and we will take care of each other.” [[The room starts to spin.]]

He isn’t dead. Presumably he isn’t even a call centre owner, just one of the meek showing how convincing our attacks need to be. You feel tricked, cheated, scared. You fight the urge to be sick and [[start counting your breaths]].

By the time you’ve counted to 10, a thought is solidifying in your mind. This plan is mad. It’s dangerous. It’s brutal and is surely doomed to fail. Unless you commit. Unless every single person here, and countless other meeklings across the globe, commits to the plan with all the meekness in your timid bodies. If we commit, if we convince, if we sacrifice. [[Well, this plan might just be perfect.]]

You rise shakily to your feet, looking right at Dr Brian Clark. “Blessed are the meek!” [[***]]

It’s Saturday, 6am. You’re sat on an uncomfortable wooden bench on the station platform, looking out over the tracks and waiting for the first train that will take you to your parents. [[Look along the platform]]

You only have a couple of pigeons for company now. Baking Lady was with you until half an hour ago, when she waved goodbye from a train bound for her home, her loved ones. Baking Lady. Mary. You hope you will see each other again. [[You’re trying not to think about the piece of paper in your pocket.]]

You were told to memorise it and then destroy it, but one glance at it was enough to burn the first few words into your mind forever. You’ll read the rest later. After a day with your mum and dad, when you’re tucked up in bed, warm and safe. There was a piece of paper for every person in the marquee. [[Your mission.]]

Each of you must wait for a message, a clear signal from the Mighty Meek that your time has come. You won’t get much warning, just long enough to send a package of essential possessions to a PO box in a town you’ve never heard of. You’ll get them back afterwards. [[When you’re dead.]]

In the meantime, you are all expected to remain meek, gradually increasing your meekness with every attack that’s reported. Be extra meek with the most noisy, arrogant, uncaring people. Fill their souls with fear with just one act of kindness, with a warm smile that will chill their blood. [[Your phone beeps.]]

Your dad. He’ll be there to pick you up at 9am. He seems to have bought your story about having to get off the train after almost fainting. Must have been hunger. The people around you were very kind and took care of you, but by the time you got your strength back you’d missed the last train. You called him last night, as soon as you could, [[so he wouldn’t worry]].

Alright, so your story will probably just make him worry even more. And they’ll probably make an extra effort to feed you up. While the lie was enough to convince your dad, you’re going to have to get a lot better at lying if your mission is going to succeed. This weekend with your parents will be good practice, but they are inclined to believe everything you say out of sheer love. [[You look down at the ground]]

You watch the crumpled wrapper of a chocolate bar drift by your feet in the soft breeze, and you break down, lost in grief, heavy tears falling onto your lap. How many more weekends like this will you have, before you’re gone? What are you going to put your parents through? You shiver in the early morning chill and try to get your breathing back under control. [[It takes a while.]]

Come on. You can take comfort in one thing. When your parents lose you, it will be terrible. It’s a burden you will carry for the rest of your life. But. [[What if?]]

Their pain and grief could lead to something good. It might force them to appreciate the child they still have. You might never know about it, of course, but it’s the only thing that will get you through your mission, the only thing that will allow you to cause your parents so much pain. [[You smile as your tears keep falling.]]

The thought of your brother coming to visit them for the weekend, the image of your dad laughing as he plays in the garden with your nephew. The thought of a reunited family gathered round the dinner table, grateful for being in each other’s lives once more. It brings you comfort, even now as your heart is breaking. [[You'll change their lives, one way or another.]]

You will create a better world for them, a meeker world for your nephew to grow up in. He won’t be bullied, he won’t be hurt. He’ll be respected and cared for by the new, meek society. No more war. No more destruction of our precious planet. It might be a dream, but [[you have to try]].

You don’t know when the message will come. But you do know you’ll be ready. [[Ready to inherit the earth.]]

(enchant: ?page, (background:"http://shotgundentist.com/katie/gametest123/TwineBGImageCake.png")) THE END Well done, you've reached the end of this adventure. [[Play again->Start1]] to uncover more endings and surprises! [[CREDITS]]

Now that you've decided to be brave, you feel scared of the task ahead of you. You really should come up with some kind of plan, some way to make progress without everything descending into a big mess of hurt feelings. [[Try to make a plan]] [[Read the baking magazine]]

Right. Time to focus. You can't fix this all by yourself. [[You call your brother.]]

Ah, the perfect distraction. You'll get back to reality after five minutes of soothing reading. And looking at pictures of cakes. They really are lovely pictures. Your chocolate bar and crisps are just where you left them, so you get comfy and start reading an article on how to give your sponge cakes more oomph. [[You notice a little box of text in the corner of the page.]]

What's that? The font is tiny, so you have to really squint to read it. 'Do you wish the people around you weren't so rude, so loud, so inconsiderate? Do you want to live in a world ruled by respect, by helpfulness, by peaceful cooperation? Join me for an evening that will change your life, and together we will change the world. Blessed are the meek.' There's a name, Dr Brian Clark, as well as the [[date, time and location]].

That's today's date. It's happening in just over an hour. You type the location into your phone. It's in the middle of nowhere, not far from the railway line. In fact, the stop where Baking Lady got off is the closest station. [[So that's where she was going.]]

Whatever this Dr Brian Clark is planning, his gathering of the meek sounds a bit crazy. A bit culty. Some kind of brainwashing going on. If Baking Lady really was on her way there, she might have even tried to convert you to the cause. And the last thing you need right now is to be brainwashed. Come on. [[Put the magazine away.]]

The only cause you should focus on is reuniting your splintered, stubborn family. You put the magazine in your bag. Maybe you'll try one of the cupcake recipes next week. [[Try to make a plan]]

No wonder she was in such a hurry. It looks like a long walk from the station, and turning up in a taxi would probably be far too extravagant for someone meek. You wonder what would have happened if you'd left the train and handed her the magazine. Oh well. [[You probably dodged a bullet.]]

Your brother answers the phone. He was in the middle of putting your nephew to bed and sounds a bit annoyed at the interruption. You tell him you're planning to bring up 'the situation' with your parents this weekend. You're hopeful that he'll want to make progress too. Silence. [[You ask him what he thinks.]]

He asks you to respect his wishes and leave the topic alone. You can't think of any way to argue with his reasonable request, but it still leaves you in the middle of an awkward family situation. Your brother tells you to focus on the good relationship you do have with your parents, and to make the most of that. [[You say goodbye and hang up the phone.]]

You feel like you're choking on the words you didn't say. You coward. Why didn't you tell him how it feels to be in the middle of the aching gap between the people you care about the most? It seems only natural to you that you should be involved in a solution. But he doesn't want a solution. [[Not any more.]]

(enchant: ?page, (background:"http://shotgundentist.com/katie/gametest123/TwineBGImageCake.png")) THE END Well done, you've reached one of the endings. [[Play again->Start1]] to uncover more secrets. There's lots more to discover! [[CREDITS]]

"Oh, well, you see, I was sat next to you on the train. You probably didn't notice me, you seemed quite sleepy. And when you left your seat, I saw you'd left this behind." Yep, that would sound plausible, if you were still at the station. But not now. You hurry to explain yourself. "I wanted to give it back to you, but I couldn't catch up with you. You walk very quickly!" [[Baking Lady looks sceptical.]]

"So you followed me all this way, carrying my magazine? Why didn't you just call out to me when I got off the train? You could have saved yourself a lot of trouble." It's a reasonable question. But you can't tell her you followed her because you were curious. [[That's not what normal people do.]]

"Well it's nice, and a little strange, to meet you", she says. You hand her the magazine and turn to leave. "Wait. Hang on. This might sound like a strange question, but would you describe yourself as meek?" You turn to face her again. [[You're surprised by the question.]]

"Meek? No, not many people would call themselves that. It sounds so weak, so passive. Why do you ask?" [[She nods slowly.]]

"This will sound strange, but I think you should come with me this evening. I found a message in this magazine, inviting me to some kind of gathering. I don't know the details, only where and when it takes place. I don't usually wander through the night by myself and I'm feeling pretty anxious about the whole thing. I could do with some company. Will you join me? I think we're almost there anyway." She's much calmer than you'd expect someone to be after realising they'd been stalked through the countryside by someone behaving rather strangely. [[Should you give her the benefit of the doubt?]]

"What kind of gathering? What was the message?" Baking lady has a strange smile on her face. She can see you're intrigued. "The message says hardly anything at all, really. But it was enticing enough to get me this far. You'll have to trust me on the rest. If it turns out to be a waste of time, we can share a taxi back to the station together. So will you come with me?" You think about how far you've come already. You think about your parents waiting for you. [[Say you'll go with her.]] [[Say you'd rather turn back.]]

"Ok, I'll come with you. But I can't stay long. I'm supposed to be on my way to visit my parents and I'm already going to be extremely late." Baking Lady smiles warmly at you. "Wonderful. Let's keep moving." [[Together you march on in silence.]]

"No. No thank you. You've been very kind to me, but I think I've wasted enough of your time. My parents are expecting me, so I really need to be on the next train." Baking Lady looks disappointed. She opened up to you and you've let her down. [[You feel bad.]]

You try to cheer her up. "I hope you'll have fun at this gathering, whatever it's all about. Maybe you'll learn some new recipes!" She looks at you blankly, before forcing a bright smile onto her face. "Oh yes, baking recipes! I'm sure I will. It's a shame you'll be missing out. If you're really sure, I won't keep you. I need to get moving if I'm going to be on time." [[She offers you her hand.]]

You both shake hands, a little awkwardly, and say goodbye. You turn back towards the town, feeling relieved to be back on the right track again. Hopefully you'll manage not to humiliate yourself any further this evening. You walk a little way and then look back. Nothing but shadows. Baking Lady is gone. Why do you feel sad? [[You don't even know her.]]

It takes you longer than you hoped to walk back to the station, after a wrong turn took you down a street that led to nowhere. When you reach the station building, you see that the little supermarket next door has just closed. No chocolate bar for you tonight. [[You head to the platform.]]

There's a train leaving in 20 minutes. At this rate, you'll only be about two hours late. You pull out your phone to call your dad. [[You hesitate.]]

You're in no state to spend the weekend with your parents. It wouldn't be fair to them, and you might even end up snapping at them about your brother. No. It's better to tell them you've had a little emergency and need to go home. They'll worry, as always, but you can't help that. You'd rather worry them a little than a lot. And the truth is very worrying indeed. [[You call your dad.]]

He can't hide the disappointment in his voice, but you reassure him that you're ok (it's easier to lie) and you agree to come over at the end of the month instead. You're hit by a wave of sadness again when you hang up, as though you've missed an opportunity. You're certainly missing out on a lot of chocolate biscuits, so that must be it. A train home is due in two minutes. [[You run to the other platform.]]

The train comes in. It's much quieter than before, with only a couple of other people in your carriage. You sit down in a window seat and lean your head against the glass. What is going on with you? [[You know who can help.]]

You take out your phone again. You're due to see your therapist on Thursday, but you'd better bring the appointment forwards. Monday would be great. You look for a new appointment on your therapist's website, but she doesn't have any gaps on Monday. Could you take a chance on one of her colleagues? It's not ideal, but [[you need some help as soon as possible]].

Well, you've done all you can for now. Let's see if you can steer clear of any ill-advised adventures until you meet Dr Clark on Monday. [[You lean back in your seat and close your eyes.]]

Dr Clark called this a war. The first casualty has fallen, knocking your moral compass into a violent spin. [[Where will it stop?]]

Why did you run so quickly? You suspect you were trying to outrun the part of your brain that wanted to stay, to hear more, to change the world. But you witnessed a murder. An execution. You're doing the right thing. You pull out your phone. The signal out here is terrible - your phone's screen says 'Emergency calls only'. [[This is an emergency alright.]]

You punch in the emergency number, and start looking around you as you wait for an answer. Did anyone follow you outside? The operator answers and you tell them you need the police. There's been a murder. [[She puts you straight through.]]

The police dispatcher talks to you calmly. What's happened? Where are you? As you explain what's happened, you realise how ridiculous it all sounds. A gathering of meek people in a field, plotting to take over the world by force. Some doctor shooting someone for running a call centre. [[The dispatcher sounds sceptical.]]

You can't even tell them exactly where you are. You didn't see any street signs and you can't remember the route you took. You only know that you're about an hour and a half's brisk walk from the station. Does that help? [[No, that doesn't help at all.]]

They don't believe you. Oh shit. They don't believe you. And why should they believe you? You'd have a hard time believing it yourself if you hadn't just lived through it. The dispatcher warns you of the penalties for hoax calls and hangs up. You stand alone in the darkness, staring at the blank screen of your phone. [[There's a movement to your left.]]

She's dressed in a nurse's uniform and has something in her hand. It glitters briefly in the moonlight. Is it a knife? Before you can react, she steps towards you and there's a sharp pain in your arm. A needle. You cry out and try to run away, but you can only a manage a few steps before you stumble and fall onto the hard ground. [[You're gone.]]

A burst of noise and movement close to your head wakes you. As your eyes adjust to the brightness, it takes a few moments for you to see the cause of the commotion. Two pigeons, chasing each other across a station platform. [[What are you doing here?]]

You're lying awkwardly on a wooden bench, your bag placed neatly beside you. You realise how cold you are. How long have you been lying here? You swing your legs round and sit upright. Did anyone see you like this? What must they think of you? [[You try to remember what happened.]]

You were on the train, going somewhere. To visit your parents? You remember lots of people around you, eating your sandwich, looking out of the window. Did you see something? Something strange outside the train? A funny scarecrow? It's all so hazy. There was a woman next to you. She dropped something. A magazine about cakes? Did you pick it up? You open your bag and search inside. [[It's not there.]]

You don't know why, but you feel like the magazine was important. Was that why you got off the train? You might behave erratically from time to time, but you haven't blacked out before. Not since your student drinking days, anyway. And you don't remember drinking anything last night. But why is your head so sore? [[What time is it anyway?]]

You take out your phone. 6.37am. 11 missed calls from your dad. Oh shit. [[Your parents must be worried sick.]]

You want to call your dad right away, but you don't know what to tell him. The truth will only make them worry even more, but you don't want to lie to them. [[And maybe they should be worried about you.]]

As your body starts to warm up, your arm feels sore and stiff. There are grass stains on your trousers and you can feel bruises on your legs. You raise your hand to your face and brush off something. Dried mud? Have you been in a fight? [[You shiver, even as the early morning sun warms your skin.]]

You have to call your dad. You need to hear his voice. When he picks up the phone, you struggle to keep yourself together. At first he seems angry, cross with you for ignoring his calls. But as you explain your blackout and the state you're in, he is filled with concern for your safety. Stay where you are. He's coming to get you. You say goodbye and hang up the phone. [[A tear rolls down your face.]]

Does it really take a situation like this to make you realise how precious your parents are? You're filled with guilt for not looking forward to this weekend. For taking them for granted. They would do anything for you. [[You're so lucky.]]

You have a little wait ahead of you. There'll be people around soon, so you'd better make yourself look presentable. You find the bathroom and clean up your face. You buy a coffee from the machine inside the station and take it back outside. You need the sunshine right now. [[A freight train rumbles past the platform.]]

Why can't you remember? Nothing about last night makes sense. A sleeping woman. A scarecrow. A magazine. You hope it will come to you eventually. You'll have to tell your therapist about this. [[They're bound to be worried about you too.]]

(enchant: ?page, (background:"http://shotgundentist.com/katie/gametest123/TwineBGImageCake.png")) I'm very grateful to my lovely playtesters: Aleksandra G, Bettina P, Gillan M, Holly C, Joey H, Louise O, Martina K, Nancy J, Nanna S, Svend H

{  (unless: (passage:)'s tags contains "nosave")[ (save-game: $_autosave_slot, $_autosave_filename) ] } <link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Open+Sans" rel="stylesheet">

{  (set: $_version to "1.0") (set: $_autosave_slot to "autosave") (set: $_autosave_filename to "save v"+$_version) (set: $_start_passage to "Start1") }

(align: "=><=")[<h3>Off the Rails</h3>] (align: "=><=")[<h4>By Katie Benson</h4>] (enchant: ?page, (background:"http://shotgundentist.com/katie/gametest123/TwineBGImageCake.png")) {   (unless: (saved-games:) contains $_autosave_slot and (datavalues: (saved-games:)) contains $_autosave_filename)[(goto: $_start_passage)] }''[[Start a new journey->$_start_passage]] (link: "Continue your journey")[(load-game: $_autosave_slot)]''

You reach into your bag and take out a shop-bought sandwich with cheese and pickle, a packet of crisps you didn’t really mean to buy, and a chocolate bar with packaging that proudly proclaims it suitable for sharing. Ha! There will be no sharing today. [[Assemble your picnic]]

You can't help but feel deflated as he calmly tells you he has done all he can to rebuild the broken bridges in the family, without really getting anywhere. And what's more, his therapist has warned against [[dramatic, intervention-like showdowns with your parents]].

Now there's no need for you to make a plan. You'll have to put thoughts of your brother out of your mind and do your very best to make the most of your parents' company this weekend. You'll be kind to them, thoughtful, [[meek]].

As you try to feel positive about the next two days, your mind flickers back to the train doors slamming shut. Where would you be now, if you were a little braver? [[The train rumbles on.]]

You ought to pick up your pace, catch up with her as quickly as you can. Give her the magazine. Bask briefly in the glow of her surprised thanks before turning on your heel and running back to the station and onto the next train. But something about the way she’s walking makes you want to [[keep your distance]].

"Well... I don't like to shout." Baking Lady raises an eyebrow and looks at you closely. "Look, I'm Mary. What's your name?" You tell her your name and [[look down at your feet]].

"No, of course you're right. It's certainly not fashionable to be meek, but the evidence is there: you don't like to shout, you thought I didn't notice you even though I sat right next to you on the train, you're considerate enough to dash off through the night to deliver a lost magazine... Meek might not be the ideal label, but you're no thug either." You wait patiently for her to continue. [[Where is she going with this?]]

Come on. Look what you've done this evening. You hallucinated about a man in a shirt and tie standing in a field. You followed a stranger off the train and into the countryside, and almost went with this stranger to some secretive event that must have had something to do with baking. Or the meek. [[You're clearly confused.]]

Aha. One of the therapists is free at 10:30 on Monday. Perfect. You book the appointment with him. Dr Brian Clark. [[You hope he'll be able to help.]]

“I have gathered you here tonight to say the time for waiting is over. I reached out to you, the meek, because I want the earth to be yours now. Why should we sit quietly in the corner, waiting for a final reckoning that may never come? Why shouldn’t we be in charge, create a reckoning of our own? Today, your inheritance begins. Today, the meek will rise.” He gazes down, smiling proudly at the crowd he has brought to this place. [[You look at the people around you.]]

A postman starts stamping his feet. The clapping and the stamping spreads, as the assembled meek allow themselves to let go. Within a minute the ground is shaking and the noise is enough to make you feel dizzy. You realise that you’re also standing, stamping, shouting something unintelligible. [[This isn't like you.]]

"This man cheats. He lies. He preys on the weak and he must be punished." The man from the field pauses once more, making sure he has the crowd's undivided attention. [[He continues.]]

Any second now you’ll jolt awake, disturbed from your nightmare by the rumbling bump of the snack trolley as it rolls by your seat. You’ll arrive at your destination, be greeted by your smiling, worried dad, be driven home and treated like an honoured guest. You’ll be cosy, safe and warm, quickly forgetting the horrible nightmare you had on the train. That’ll teach you to eat a cheese sandwich when you’re sleepy. [[Please please please still be on the train.]]

For now, all you can do is look forward to your dad picking you up. To arriving at your parents' place. To hugging your mum and drinking your first cup of tea. You sit and wait. [[You're ready to go home.]]

A woman in sturdy hiking boots is chatting cheerily with the cyclist you saw earlier. "Yes, it was about 10 miles in the end. A beautiful hike, until it got dark of course. The footpath took me up here from the canal - bit muddy down there! It warmed my heart when I met a couple of others heading the same way. In fact, I nearly walked right into one chap. He marched out of a field beside the path and must have been so preoccupied that he didn't see me. Muttering to himself he was, like he was practising a speech. He came our way too." The cyclist notices you listening and you turn your face away, looking out across the crowd. [[You stand and stare.]]