“Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters…”

The noise from the communications-system beside you startles you.

“Did you just say…?” you mutter to a button protruding from the wall, seemingly the right thing to do.

The scenery stops its whizzing long enough to alert you to the fact that you’ve stopped moving, the train is in the station. Your eyes widen, if only for a second, and, typically, all information seems to whiz past you at too rapid a pace.

Trying to clear your eyes, and clear your surroundings, you realise that the fog surrounding your feet is actually steam-engine smoke from the red train; you boggle out the open window, watching familiar figures and their parents as they step down from the platform.

You turn, there again the entire train has seemed to morph in front of your eyes. There is no longer a dining carriage but a lady crooning as she pushes along a trolley of sweets. Students begin to push past you, eager to leave. They’re bustling and you’re in the way.

“This is getting too weird!” you mutter, as your eyelids flutter open and you find yourself in a familiar, warm place: bed.

Good morning, you mad hatter.

The End

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