I warned you, he said to his reflection.  Told you. This is not right, he leaned into the mirror. No. This is not right.

He heard the train coming down the tracks behind his mother’s house. He grew up with that sound; the loudness of the locomotive. Often at night, when he was a boy, he placed teaspoons on the tracks to be flattened by trains. He’d pick up the spoons and study the flat pieces of silver. His mother wondered where all her spoons went. The boy never said a word.

What do you want from me? he asked himself. Am I paying for my sins? he lifted his shirt, exposing a fat stomach. Gluttony.  Theft. Adultery. Lying. All these mistakes,  he said. Too many.

The train was passing. He went outside to listen in the dark. He heard a dinging sound coming closer. The train disappeared. A second train would come later, close to morning. He took out a Zippo and laid it on the tracks. Flatter than a pancake, he laughed. It’ll be flatter than a pancake.

Mirrors don’t lie. He looked closer at himself in the bedroom. Heard the next train approaching. It’s time, the man said. It’s time.

Standing on the tracks, he closed his eyes. How do people do it? he asked out loud as the train got closer. How do they do it? He felt autumn’s  breeze. Guilt will kill us all.

The pillow was soaked. Blankets kicked off the bed. A message from his ex-wife on his phone. Are you awake? I love you, she said. Another train rolled through.