Train

John 55555's:

A black creature charged across the plains, spouting steam and fire into the cool night air. There is a stir of movement in the engine that is not parallel to the reckless speed of the juggernaut, a fluid gesture alien to its mechanical drive. A figure moves in the masking vapor, a boy shovels coals into an inferno, feeding the beast of iron and physics. He wears a cloth over his nose and mouth, and two bright green eyes shine from his smoke blackened face. His posture and movements, his mixed caution and recklessness spoke of long experience despite his early age. His father had worked this line long before he was born, the steam was in his blood.

Whenever the hunger of the engine permitted, he would pull down his bandanna and thrust his head into the clean, rushing air of the darkened prairie. The chill air would clear his thoughts and his lungs, but there was another purpose to his action as well, there had been talk of robbers derailing trains to scavenge the valuables from the living and the dead.

He shook his head and set his blackened kerchief back in black, but just as he left the window he caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. A split second later he knew that the robbers were coming, the track would already be blocked.

He pulled on the emergency brake with both hands, hoping to stop the trains mad momentum before it hit the barricade he knew lay in wait for it. But then a shred of doubt flickered across his obscured features, and he released it, only to thrust  more and more coal into the furnace.

His fathers invention had been made for just such a purpose. It would be disrespecting his memory not to try it.

He pulled a lever fixed to the side of the controls, it was of a different metal and jarred strangely against the other shining elements. Something grated and a metal arm flashed past the window, the mobile track segment moved smoothly into place of the engine.

It was built as a small hill of track, to be laid over any barricade. The timing would have to be precise.

His eyes creased as he smiled under his mask. He looked forward to the challenge.

Andrew Velox's:

 The Train

I sat on a bench, nervously looking down at my hands. It was almost time. He had been gone so long, it was hard to even remember what he looked like. Those memories dying fast, like his fellow soldiers. Yet somehow he had survived. He had made it through all the gunfire, explosions, and other horrors of war. He defied the odds.

And he was coming home. I looked up again, hoping to see a train in the distance, but there was nothing but the track as far as my eyes could see. The wind picked up, piercing my cheeks, and it was then that I noticed for the first time that tears were flowing down my face. I was ecstatic, knowing that now for the first time in over two years I would see him.

I looked again, but the train still hadn’t come. I fidgeted with fingers, crossing them over each other, wringing them together. My heart burned with desire, love, happiness. Yet also in worry, in nervousness. Does he still feel the same way about me? I had asked myself over a dozen times. It had been so long…

I shook my head vigorously, pushing away the thoughts. No, of course he still cares about you…you’re in love. But I wasn’t convinced, so I played with my hands all the more, even going so far as to remove my gloves then put them on again, repeating that over and over. Because it was better than thinking.

But it didn’t help. It seemed like our own life had been a train, moving so quickly yet stopping all of a sudden at times, letting more people or things into or out of our lives. Our marriage let in both our families together. My first miscarriage removed a part of our lives. My second pregnancy, this one healthy, opened the door for another member of the family. But then his leaving for the war did the opposite. It was again just two of us at home, me and our child. Our beautiful, cheerful child who had to live his first year and a half with no father.

But it was all worth it. I knew the reason why he had left, and I agreed with it. Fighting for one’s country is one of the best things someone can do. And someone has to keep us at home safe.

Yet…

I buried my face in my hands, wiping the tears on my gloves. It had been hard – but knowing he was out there, not just fighting for no reason, but fighting for a purpose – was enough for me. And I loved him for that.

My heart began to burn with joy again as I realized that he was finally coming home. The tears came again, but I just let them flow as more and more came: the train that was bringing him home was approaching.

 Will Tolkien's:

Caleb Cederak's:

I flicked the switch to my lamp and sunk the room into darkness. I quietly opened the door to my room and shut it behind me. The train was moving smoothly across the plains in the dark of midnight. Many of the passengers were asleep, with an occasional soul roaming the hall like myself. I passed between a few cars and took a seat in the cafeteria car, staring out at the stars. I wasn't sure where we were, only that it was in the middle of nowhere, far from the lights and sounds of the New York that I was accustomed to.

I could actually see colors in the sky among all the stars, wisps of ethereal blues and greens haunting the shadowy skies. As I sat there, staring longingly out into the vast emptiness of space (because most of it really is empty), I heard the sound of footsteps approaching. I glanced over my shoulder to find a young woman smiling at me from a couple feet away. Her long, auburn hair complimented the glossy emerald of her eyes, eyes examining me behind a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. She couldn't have been a day over twenty four. An odd fact considering I am nearing the end of my thirties much too soon. Was there something truly interesting about an accountant from the city to her?

"Something interesting out there?" she asked, taking a sip of a drink in her hand.

"A lot of interesting things out there, yes," I chuckled.

She took another sip. "Do you mind if I sit down with you?"

"Not at all," I replied, gesturing to the seat across from me.

She took a seat, removing her jet black jacket and revealing a white t-shirt with a band name on it. Red Hot Chili Peppers. I knew the name, but couldn't associate it to any music. She set her cup on the table and gently pushed it toward me.

"It's cocoa," she grinned. "Do you want some?"

I admired her confidence and accepted, taking a small sip. It was a bit sweet for my taste. "Thank you," I said, pushing the cup back her way.

I turned back to the window and continued my search of the skies, a search for nothing in particular.

"So, where are you headed?" she asked playfully.

"Visiting family. I'm from New York myself, but my parents live out in Nebraska. I suppose it stands to reason that I'd want to leave the lands of endless corn fields and unexpected tornadoes."

She giggled, so full of life, still clutching on to remnants of youth. "That's what I've heard about Nebraska, of the little that people talk about it. I'm heading out to Oregon myself. Born and raised, actually. New York was my vacation."

"I don't mean to be rude or anything, but I was rather enjoying staring up into the sky," I replied. I felt a bit awkward, but the young lady brushed it off as nothing.

"It's fine," she assured me. "I'll look with you. It's lonely here tonight…not just for you and I."

I stared back up into the sky, scanning trails of color intermingled with the light of stars, the suns of so many other galaxies and my own. "It's lonely everywhere, I suppose."