The only light produced that night was from the silver moon and magnetic rays of lightning. The train moved slowly like the rain drops swimming down the stained-glass window. A woman sleeping with a lit cigarette sat next to me. She had a distinctive red lotus tattoo on her shoulder.

 The sudden stop of the train swung us back and forth, knocking the cigarette out of her grip. A conductor’s inaudible voice came through the old speaker. The train resumed its slow pace, making the rails clank. 

The scent of old rubber and smoke filled the air. The woman had black smudge along her neck from her short hair being previously dyed. Her ears were drowned in expensive silver jewelry. 

Lightning struck down, a loud boom, awakening her tired eyes. She looked out the dirty window to see rain rhythmically dropping into the dark nothingness. The soothing sound of rain laid her to rest.

An unexpected stop shook me awake. The mysterious woman was gone but the scent of smoke remained. The feeling of emptiness overfilled my soul. The absence of her silhouette left me wanting more. Deep down I knew I would never see her again. 

Each time I see a lotus or smell a cigarette, she strikes my memory. The small cuts along her fingertips, her night sky black hair, the sheen of her jewelry. 

The vigorous reminiscence of her aura stays with me.