The Granddaughter's Illness

I looked at him. “This room,” I slowly said, digesting the information, “shows exactly how long…every person on this Train will live?”

The man nodded. “Like I said, most people don’t come back here. They would rather not know their life span. Would you? I could find the clock for you.”

“No, no. Please. I am old.”

“I thought so.” The man had an odd glint in his eyes. His silvery hair was wiry, and his glasses were small and thin. “I believe your granddaughter is ill?”

I was taken aback. “How did you know?”

“There is much we know on the Train of Thought. In case you haven’t noticed, it is a special locomotive, if not even magical, though the philisophical thinkers here wouldn’t tell you so.

“Anyhow, about your granddaughter. I believe we have something here that may help her. Unfortunately, it is at the complete other side of the Train. You would have to cross unimaginable dreamscapes to reach it.”

“Her illness is incurable.”

“Dear man, on this Train, much is possible.”

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