All Roads Lead to Eagle Junction

Celtic Chameleon
7 min readMay 3, 2024

“Still, I hesitate. My foot poised upon the boiling blackness of the night.”

She’s tall and slender, long fingered and delicate boned. And she always disembarks at Eagle Junction.

The first time I saw her, something scratched at the door of memory, though she did not resemble anyone I have ever known.

She is an ocean of stillness, giving no hint that she wants to be approached. But of course, a certain type of man approaches her anyway.

Perhaps they think she looks vulnerable. Perhaps she does, if you don’t look too closely.

Like so many, she spends much of her journey staring at a mobile device. Lost, it seems, in her own world. Somehow though, I know she is acutely aware of everyone around her.

I first noticed her in November. My mind was keening with the pressure of forgetting an anniversary I wanted to bury forever. When I first looked up to see her sitting there, her quietness was somehow disquieting.

She became a feature of my journeys. She was not always on my train, but when the sun was rising or setting on early or late shifts, I was sure to catch spy the fiery halo of her hair, burnt around her by the rising or dying light.

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