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The midnight train was almost empty that night. Only a few passengers sat scattered across the dim car — a young woman with headphones, a man in a suit scrolling through his phone, a college kid dozing off — and at the far end, a homeless man. He was thin, hair matted, his eyes dull yet strangely sharp. He looked at each person in turn, lips moving slightly as if counting. I sat close enough to hear him whisper. He looked at the woman. “Vegetable.” At the man in the suit. “Meat.” At the sleepy student. “Chicken.” Then his eyes met mine. He stared for a long, uncomfortable moment, and his cracked lips curved into a grin. His voice was barely audible when he spoke: “Human.” I froze. My heart pounded. He lowered his head again and said nothing else. The rest of the ride, I couldn’t stop glancing at him — half afraid, half curious. Maybe he was just insane, I told myself. Just another drifter mumbling nonsense. When the train reached my stop, I got off. Before the doors closed, I looked back — he was still there, eyes fixed on me. The next morning, I stopped by the café near the station. They’d added something new to the menu — a “special meat” sandwich. The owner smiled and said it came from a private supplier, “always fresh.” I tried it. The flavor was strange but… delicious. While I was eating, the café’s radio played a local news report: “A homeless man was found dead on last night’s train. Cause of death believed to be starvation.” The fork slipped from my hand. In my head, his voice echoed again: “Vegetable… Meat… Chicken… Human.” I thought back to the faces on that train — each one, and the way he had looked at them. How did he know who was what? I glanced down at my sandwich. The meat was dark, reddish — not quite pork. And in that moment, I understood. Maybe he wasn’t muttering nonsense. Maybe he was just… telling the truth. Stake ID: holae

Holae

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