October 2cd, 1988 - Flåm Valley
Abrupt. If the travels beginning had to be summed into one word that would be it. It wasn't the fact that leaving was a sudden surprise, nor was it the fact that the means of travel was last minute. No it was that train ride that urned the beginning that title. The Flåm railway's travels up it's steep and dangerous path was abrupt in the changes it made from spring to fall to winter all within seconds. There you were, sitting in a cabin with your suitcase on your lap and the window cracked just enough to smell that Norway air that thinned as the train climbed the mountain, and outside the seasons passed. It was hard to ignore really, since the greens abruptly became reds and oranges--much like the eyes of wolves peeking out at you from their wooden dens- and then even quicker became blinding white. The sheer colour of which made your eyes burn to the point you had to blink a fair few times. It is true, what they say that is, about this railway. It's one of the reasons people flock to Norway. To bad 'people' aren't the only creatures that flock here. It was also to bad, all considered, that you had to leave the train a bit...early.
Across from you in the cabin was a young girl, the one you had earlier covered in a dusty blue blanket and brought to the train station with you. Her name was sweet on the tongue and rang like a bell whenever said. It was Camilla A. Froseth and you never did learn what that 'A.' stood for. She was the reason you, an American Tourist coming just to see this very train ride and nothing more, started on the 'beginning'. What other word to give it! Oh how sweet that girl was really, even as she sat there with her head against the musty gold fabric lining the cabin walls. The brown curls that dripped over her pale face were enough to leave a grown man heartbroken and make a young boy gape. When her eyes opened, which wouldn't happen until it was near time to leave, the bright green orbs that looked out swam with speckles of hazel making her stare like gazing into a dense forest. That's what she was though, a forest of mystery. As your eyes traced her, looking down across her fair skin and that deep, near sapphire, blanket that had faded patches from being used to often. When your gaze ended it was stuck upon her small hand, folded in the curling cover with only one and a partial finger showing. It was that hand that started this, all of this. It was that hand--you swore it in your mind though you knew it was blasphemy!-- that would end it all as well. How was the only question.
How. How did she get you on that train, in that cabin, breathing in that thinning air that you once thrived to get to. That air that had called you here in the first place. How could such a small
Abrupt. If the travels beginning had to be summed into one word that would be it. It wasn't the fact that leaving was a sudden surprise, nor was it the fact that the means of travel was last minute. No it was that train ride that urned the beginning that title. The Flåm railway's travels up it's steep and dangerous path was abrupt in the changes it made from spring to fall to winter all within seconds. There you were, sitting in a cabin with your suitcase on your lap and the window cracked just enough to smell that Norway air that thinned as the train climbed the mountain, and outside the seasons passed. It was hard to ignore really, since the greens abruptly became reds and oranges--much like the eyes of wolves peeking out at you from their wooden dens- and then even quicker became blinding white. The sheer colour of which made your eyes burn to the point you had to blink a fair few times. It is true, what they say that is, about this railway. It's one of the reasons people flock to Norway. To bad 'people' aren't the only creatures that flock here. It was also to bad, all considered, that you had to leave the train a bit...early.
Across from you in the cabin was a young girl, the one you had earlier covered in a dusty blue blanket and brought to the train station with you. Her name was sweet on the tongue and rang like a bell whenever said. It was Camilla A. Froseth and you never did learn what that 'A.' stood for. She was the reason you, an American Tourist coming just to see this very train ride and nothing more, started on the 'beginning'. What other word to give it! Oh how sweet that girl was really, even as she sat there with her head against the musty gold fabric lining the cabin walls. The brown curls that dripped over her pale face were enough to leave a grown man heartbroken and make a young boy gape. When her eyes opened, which wouldn't happen until it was near time to leave, the bright green orbs that looked out swam with speckles of hazel making her stare like gazing into a dense forest. That's what she was though, a forest of mystery. As your eyes traced her, looking down across her fair skin and that deep, near sapphire, blanket that had faded patches from being used to often. When your gaze ended it was stuck upon her small hand, folded in the curling cover with only one and a partial finger showing. It was that hand that started this, all of this. It was that hand--you swore it in your mind though you knew it was blasphemy!-- that would end it all as well. How was the only question.
How. How did she get you on that train, in that cabin, breathing in that thinning air that you once thrived to get to. That air that had called you here in the first place. How could such a small
