Consider.

A quaint little ice cream parlor, buzzing with laughter and anticipation as children, adults, and ice cream enthusiasts like me eagerly waited their frozen delights. As I clutched my precious cone, vanilla with a swirl of chocolate, a sense of sweet serendipity filled the air. This was it: a moment meant to be savored, cherished, and devoured. Time froze as I awaited the moment I would consume the aforementioned magnum opus among human inventions, but soon lost the battle against my own impatience.

Alas, the frozen mastermind had other plans! With each passing second, the once-sturdy structure of my ice cream began to waver. It was as if the dessert was testing my commitment to its fleeting existence. I found myself lost in the contemplation of my own existence, and was reminded of my mortality. I think this was a defining moment in my life and I still think back to how I felt during this instance every time I feel lost in life. Anyways, in a cosmic twist of fate, I found myself locked in a battle of wills with a frozen treat. I was determined not to let it melt away without a fight, but the ice cream was a worthy opponent.

As the ice cream continued its daring escape, my mind went on a rollercoaster ride of emotions. I went from blissfully savoring each bite to frantically trying to consume the cone before it became an abstract puddle of nostalgia. I remembered all of the good times I had with this cone, commemorating every moment we have got to experience during our short connaissance. The tragedy, the tears... It always leaves a hole in our hearts to lose a loved one. This was no different.

So kids, the next time your dessert decides to perform a vanishing act, remember to laugh, embrace the chaos, and enjoy the remaining precious little moments with your ball of happiness! Accept that death is a part of life as much as joy and don't forget to say your goodbyes on time. Just remember to stay away from the big bad shining ball above our heads who is keen to take away the rare spoons of happiness from our lives, without the slightest hesitation or mercy for its victims.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Gerald found himself alone by the square, feeling an unusual urge to reflect on his life. As he stared into the dancing flames by a nearby torch on the castle walls, a peculiar thought crossed his mind: "Why do I tie my shoelaces every single day? What's the purpose of it all?" As much as he liked the unbroken nature of his routine, having to tie the shoes was one of his least favourite chores of the day. It felt like he wasted a part of his morning, delaying the beautiful walks in the forest.

But it wasn't until one fateful afternoon when he stumbled upon an ancient scroll by which he discovered the sad truth, hidden in an obscure corner of the castle library. He had to clear sediments of dust and cobwebs before he could unravel the mysteries of an unspoken past. The scroll, written by a forlorn shoemaker from centuries ago, revealed the haunting shoelace lament. Shoemakers had devised a marketing plan to advertise the art of shoelace tying as an essential life skill. However, they could not foresee the tragedies that would unfold before it backfired and ruined everything. The shoemakers had lost their loved ones in accidents involving shoelaces, somehow. I wish the scrolls were more clear on how that exactly happened. In their grief, they sought to create an illusion of security, believing that if people tied their shoelaces meticulously, such heartbreak could be averted. This was their totem for the upcoming millenium.

As word of his solemn legacy spread through the town, a somber atmosphere descended. A funeral for Gerald, no one could predict so soon! Legend has it, he forgot to tie his shoes one day and whatever deity they were worshipping in those cursed lands decided to unleash its wrath upon the unsuspecting victim. He was found dead by the trails in the forest, with the mist of mystery covering his corpse, with no trace of what might have happened. To this day, the townsfolk still find dead bodies scattered around the forest, always with untied shoes, fearing that the same fate would find them with some fatal absurdity if their forgetful minds decide to betray them one morning.

However, in recent months, a peculiar phenomenon had plagued the town. It was once a week at first, but the delayed trains slowly became the norm. It all began with a soft whisper among the commuters, murmuring about them running a few minutes late. But as the days turned into weeks, those few minutes grew into hours, and the once dependable train service Nederlandse Spoorwegen (NS) became a source of exasperation for all Bussummers.

The townspeople grew increasingly frustrated, and rumors of a mischievous train spirit began to circulate because honestly, I have no other explanations on why they are always late at this point. Some believed that a malevolent specter had taken residence in the locomotive, causing delays to the trains for its own entertainment and pleasure.

Notsuspiciouswoman, for that was her name, chuckled and approached him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. With a knowing glance, she led him to a secluded corner of the station: the waiting room that was closed due to complaints and will open soon since 2022. There, they discovered an underground bike lane. In the heart of the lane stood a grand, ancient watch out sign, right before where the lane intersected a mossy and cobbled train track. With a mischievous look in her eyes, Notsuspiciouswoman shared the secret that had escaped the notice of the NS workers and even Trainpersonman himself. The time-trapped train, she whispered, it finds solace here, like an old fossil trapped in the embers of time.

Suddenly, the sound of an approaching train echoed around the waiting room. But this was no ordinary train. It emerged from the shadows, its once yellow-blue colors faded, and its sidescreen read sorry, geen dienst. Trainpersonman felt a chill down his spine as the train stopped before them, seeming to beckon him with ghostly allure. Notsuspiciouswoman stepped forward, her demeanor shifting from playful to somber. "The train needs someone to take its place, Trainpersonman," she said cryptically. "Will you choose to release it from its eternal confinement, or will you become the new guardian of this eerie realm?"

To this day, to commemorate the noble sacrifices of Trainpersonman, NS trains go into maintenance every weekend, causing nuisance for any poor soul who just happened to live between Amsterdam and Amersfoort, which also includes the small town of Bussum. As for Notsuspiciouswoman, she's rumored to have aged a lot to camouflage among the regular people of the town, probably plotting to entrap her next victim. Who knows, maybe the train gods are somewhere, waiting for the next sacrifice to finally start functioning? The truth is there, though. If you walk around the heath between Bussum and Hilversum alone at night, Notsuspiciouswoman will find you, then you will be the next victim to take the time-trapped train trip.