My Collection of Short Stories and Poetry

Train - Updated

   My feet hurt and my fingers are numb from the cold, walking for so long really takes a toll on you, especially in the middle of Winter. It has yet to snow and I don’t think it will anytime soon so that’s good news for me. My fingers run along the buttons of my camera, rubbing the safety strap against my neck. It's rubbed my skin raw so many times I'm numb to it now. I snap photos of the scenery around me, trees and flowers and the occasional bird.

I wander along the beat down path so many others have walked before me. The trees around me are spread and dead, giving way to a river I've never seen before. Water splashes against the eroded mud and rocks surrounding it, flowing fast and cold. I don't see any fish but they're in there somewhere.

Squatting down at the edge, I snap a few pictures, adjusting the lens when necessary. Dipping a finger into the water, it's freezing and I love it. My breath comes out in small wisps of mist in front of my eyes. Glancing to my left, there is another small pathway and it leads further up the river. I stand up and step to the side a little as to not slip into those shallow but frigid waters.

As I walk along it, a bridge comes into view crossing along the river's path. Interestingly enough, this one isn't covered in graffiti save for one thing in large black lettering, "R.I.P." That's odd to see on a bridge let alone done by vandalism. Usually, it's names of all sorts, pictures, initials, anything really. I shake it off and go around to the hill so I can climb up onto the bridge where the bridge meets the ground.

A tall black shape is standing at that exact intersection point, and I hesitate in going any further. I stay back and hide partially behind a tree to his right and watch what he does. He does...nothing. He's just standing there. Watching. His body is as still as a statue making me question if he's even a real person. I grab my camera and snap a photo of his shape against the bridge, now what I see to be train tracks.

No, he moves and is alive once more, reassuring me I am not hiding from a statue. He turns around and looks right at where I am hiding, locking eyes with me. He doesn't need to speak for me to walk over to him slowly. My feet make a soft sucking noise on the moist earth of dirt and wet, long dead leaves.

"What're you doing?" I ask, my lips barely moving as I study him. His large, muscular frame, his pitch black skin, the skinny glasses resting atop his large nose, which happens to sit upon large, dark lips. His black shirt hugs his body, but it isn't necessary. His height and frame itself are intimidating. He doesn't answer me right away but studies me as I did him.

His seemingly black eyes take in my own size. I'm only 5'5, wearing a loose black hoodie and dirty jeans, with old sneakers. His eyes seem to take in my every flaw, freckle, acne scar, my short black hair, the stubble growing from two nights ago.

"I'm admiring the scene." He finally replies and turns back around to look at the train tracks. Not the rushing water or the dead trees, not even the now setting sun against the horizon, but the old and rusted silver train tracks.

His black shoes scuff slightly against the metal when he walks up to the track. "What's your name?" I question once I walk over to him. I keep my distance as to not make him think anything incorrect. My fingers no longer touch the camera resting against my chest, feeling heavier than it usually does. He doesn't move again, one foot placed upon the track, the other on the wood.

"My name is Booth." His deep voice surprises me for a second after the still silence.

"What an interesting name. I'm Chronos."

"Mine is simple yet yours is different," Booth says, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Why're you admiring the train tracks?" I ask him with genuine curiosity.

"Besides computers and comic books, I've always loved trains." That's all he says and it leaves a brittle feeling to the cold air.

As the sun sets, red and orange fading to black it gets colder outside. I shift my feet and rub my hands together to keep them from going numb. Unsure of what to say next, I keep quiet waiting for him to speak first.

Abruptly he says, "You know I'm waiting right?" He turns to me and looks into my eyes once more, still giving me that feeling of him boring into my soul.

I shake my head and speak up, the wind having picked up the pace and is now yelling at us, "Waiting for what?"

"This." He gestures upwards, and I follow his hand movements. I didn't notice but now it is almost completely black, as dark as he is. Stars shine, their light seeming to pulsate against its canvas. The moon is full and white, my eyes picking up on the gray craters along its skin. "I've always found beauty in the night sky. I love the stars and the moon...I was in love with a girl, and she had these eyes..." He trails off, losing his voice for a moment, finding it again he says, "Her eyes were full of stars." He clears his throat and it's evident he doesn't deal well with showing emotions.

"Are you okay?" The concern is evident and as I reach out, he steps back.

"I'm fine. Don't worry."

Something in the air has changed, and not in a good way. The wind is brisk and howls at us.

A train's horn sounds in the distance and I finally fully understand.

"Are you going to jump?" I don't move but see the nod of his head, my fingers grip my camera protectively and give me a sense of comfort. The train tracks rumble, the noise growing louder as it grows nearer.

"Don't try to stop me."

I don't need to, I know he won't back out of it. He clearly isn't in the right state of mind and no coaxing or bribing will bring him back to me.

"I have a request." He gestures for me to ask before I have to get off the tracks. "Can I take photos?"

"Yes." Is all he says and it ends there. I scurry away to safe ground, his legs carrying him to the edge of the train tracks, the beast finally coming for him to give him his end.

Bringing the camera up to my eyes, my fingers still numb yet having no trouble fondling the correct buttons, I wait for my opportunity. The train finally comes into view and grows deafening, louder than the wind was moments ago. It still beats against me, and I snap multiple photos of his tense body, the moment before.

I gather photos of his feet leaving the ground, the train coming into view and the force pushing against his body, the blood splattering and droplets hit my face. The photos cannot capture the sound though. The screeching sound of metal on metal, the contraption ramming into a solid and large body, the sound is none like any other I've ever heard, even though I have seen and heard many trains traveling before.

The camera dies in my hands.