Forbidden Enchantment Series: The Virus

Iron Horse

I sat on the cold leather seat and stared blankly at my reflection in the metal flat-canvas. The constant clicking sound of the iron-horse being passed from one iron belt to the next rang in my ears. I was locked under the spell of the noise, the vibration of it in my brain, like a cat's purr. The consistency and length kept my mind in a constant trance. A water-droplet broke free from my eyelid and flowed down my cheek to the edge of my face, and flew down to deform my reflection. This drew me out of the trance and I wiped the trail away the tear left on my face. I guided a loose strand of hair comfortably behind my ear. I quickly glanced about the rectangular cube and an elderly man sitting across from me caught my eye. He and a strange looking bag hogged the entire bench. I looked around at the crowded car then back to the man and his large bag. His features were sharp and harsh. His skin rippled gently away from his bones, creating several creases on his forehead, temples, cheeks, and neck. His eyes squinted; focusing hard on the news-giver he held open with his fingertips. His crooked lids made him look menacing. He wore a neat black suit and white tie, with a matching white rose. I jerked back to my reflection afraid for his pupils to meet my overlooking gaze. My reflection had always intrigued me; something about my exact movements and features mirrored by another version of myself had always caught my attention. The cramped train smelled strongly of body-odor and coal dust. This didn't surprise me, for the boxcar had just been filled at a mining station, were the people in our segment, mountain gibers, came aboard. The mountain giber's only job was to cut at the mountain side and find the precious coal and char. They worked tirelessly from dawn to dusk, and never stopped. Most of them perished from their lungs coated in coal dust. I looked at their tired faces and dirty hair. My father was a mountain giber. He would come home with that same weak, "burnt" look. A memory flooded into my mind.

"Ember do you know what your name means" my father's soft voice asked one night several years ago as we rocked in the large chair by the fire.

"No" I replied in a whisper.

"A small piece of burning or glowing coal or wood in a dying fire" He said as-a-matter-of-factly.

The high screech of metal against metal as the iron-horse began to slow and the voice over the intercom saying

"Attention all passengers we have arrived at station 66" interrupted my memory.

"My stop" I thought. The train came to a halt. Again I moved a strand of hair behind my ear and bent down to retrieve my brown, leather bag with my right hand and used my left hand to guide the strap to my shoulder and across my chest. The only other passengers getting off at this station were the elderly man and a girl he had begun conversing with, who glanced in my direction more than once, pointing and talking in low tones. I tried to keep my eyes down and avoid making eye contact. A loud hiss sounded, and the train doors opened. I looked down at the endless black filling the gap between the iron horse and the metal deck. Glancing over my shoulder, I jogged out of the iron horse stable, and left my tear-smudged reflection on the floor.