Cinder in Snow

The Train

I press my fingertips further into my pockets; shoving my hands so deep that my fingers curl in on themselves and my sharp nails dig into my palms. I rock back and forth on my heals, hearing the worn wooden boards creak beneath my feet, head tilted towards the sky; scouting the mass of grey for any sign of sunlight, any hint towards the stop of snow. My breath mists as it leaves my chapped lips and I wet the cracked skin with my tongue against the knowledge that it will only make it worse. The tip of my nose and edges of my ears burn in the cold. Everything in my body is telling me to wait inside the station, to embrace its warmth radiating from the wood burning stove, to sink into one of the musty old armchairs and not care about the moldy smell because the smell of pine and peppermint easily overpowers it now, with the winter holidays so near. But just as the aching cold begins to climb from the tip of my nose to the bridge, I can see a column of smoke rise from above the tree line. The train. I sigh a breath of relief and lean over the edge of the platform to see it chug through the trees towards the station. The sleek black engine pulls along the tracks to the side of the platform and I lean back to avoid having my head taken off by the monstrous machine. I hesitantly pull my hands out of my pockets and reach for my bags. Just as I take them up in my arms, the brakes on the train release and the rush of wind blows my hood back. But now the doors have slid open and my hands are full and I cannot reach for it to keep the snow from falling in my face, from sticking to my raven hair. Even when another gust of wind sweeps my hair into my face, I can't take the risk of stopping to push it back but instead step clumsily into the open door way. It takes a moment for the doors to close behind me and for me to blow the hair out of my eyes, and then another moment still for me to realize that the train as started with an unsettling lurch I hurry into a velvet seat and hear a woman scoff with disgust that I've swept snow (and likely some coal dust as well) onto her pristine skirt. I sweep the last of my hair out of my face, the snow stuck on the strands melting at the touch of my fingertips. A shadow appears above me.

I don't know if I truly could call him a shadow, to be honest, with how dreadfully pale he was. the man barely stood above five feet and was so round and plump that his chin dipped right into his chest and his rosy, dimpled cheeks stuck out far beyond his large, watery eyes whose size was not helped by the complete absence of eyebrows. He gulped as I turned to him... as if he were nervous. "Ma'am," he squeaked, obviously failing to deepen his voice "May I see your ticket?"

I saw a man sitting ahead of me turn in his seat and look to see what this was all about. I looked at the nametag on his burgundy staff vest, easily the most colorful thing on his person. Perkins. It fit him quite well. I reached into the pocket of my coat and pulled out my ticket, the silver ink glistening in the artificial light. He pursed his already thin lips as he took the ticket from my hand, obviously trying to avoid brushing up against my fingers. He swept up his other hand and poised a hole-punch above the white slip of paper.

"Coal dust all over the thing" He tsked, obviously thinking he was speaking under his breath and certainly not loud enough for me to hear. "Where are you going?" He asked.

I took the interrogation in stride; it's not like I wasn't expecting it. "Sorrel," I said "Sector 6, district 11."

"For what purpose?" He narrowed his eyes with no success of looking at all intimidating, seeing as how they were still as large as a cow's and reminded me quite vividly of a puppy.

"Personal," I said quickly. He squinted even further. "familial."

Perkins nodded, though he still looked quite unsure at my story. "Visa?" he said

"In my bags," I said, turning to pull the papers out of my front pocket.

He held up a hand as if to say 'don't bother', clicked a hole into the ticket, handed it back to me, and turned to go. "And please," he begged, the skin where his eyebrows should be dropping pleadingly "there's a compartment for bags underneath the seats. Avoid soiling the upholstery?"

I felt my cheeks burn as he walked on to the next car. The man from the seat in front of me turned again. He was young but not too young, probably early in his fourth decade. His face, though pale like Perkins', was no were near as round. He was stockier, but it was obviously with muscle. Where as everything about Perkins was round, everything about this man had an edge: his square chin, straight eyes, and unfaltering hairline. The wildest thing about him was his long dark blond hair that even still stood in a perfectly combed ponytail. I realized with a start that his jacket was no plain overcoat, it was an officer's coat. A military uniform. I quickly looked away from him and stowed my bags beneath my seat. When I looked back, he was still staring intently at me. I felt my cheeks grow redder.

"If you don't mind my asking," he said "What business does a girl from the coal mines of Carbones have in Sorrel?"

I didn't know what to say. He couldn't tell? I mean, he should have been able to. Everyone from the Mourntem region was dreadfully... pale. Even this officer was colorful for the area. Me, I stuck out like a sore, dark, thumb. "I'm... from there." I said, unsteadily. "More like, my parents are." I quickly added, trying to clarify. "I have no memory of the place."

He nodded as if I'd just explained something to him that eh had no idea of. But he must have known. No one in Mourntem had black hair, much less dark skin. "So how'd you end up out here?" he asked.

I shrugged "Honestly, that's what I want to figure out." I looked down at my lap where my hands were folded, shaking subtly. "My parents died not long after they brought me here, and I was just a child when it all happened. Carbones is the only village I have any memory of. Hopefully, I'll be able to find a bloodline in Sorrel, in my parent's old district and, well..." I drifted off.

He nodded "sometimes closure is the best remedy. Doesn't matter for what, it just always has a way of... fixing things." he gave me a knowing smile. The woman in the seat behind me shifted and gave out a low cough, making it known that she was very displeased with this kind of conversation. Of course, how unpleasant for her that I talk about my dead parents.

The man rose from his seat, his long coat tails falling behind him. "Lieutenant Bock, 31st regiment of the Imperial Armed Forces." He held out a white gloved hand to me.

I slowly lifted my own hand to his, much more slender but much more filthy. I suddenly became very aware of how dirty my fingernails were. He took my hand firmly despite my hesitation. His eyes searched for a reply. "Diana Richmond," I said. " second company citizen of Mourntem."

He nodded, content, and took back his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Madam Richmond." He said. Then, peering to the woman sitting behind us he whispered to me "don't take them quite so seriously. Miss prim-and-proper back there is on a task relocation. No one from Indixa gets relocated unless they are very, very guilty of something." his eyes twinkled.

I'm sure that, if at all possible, I blushed even harder. I nodded, unable to conjure a single word in response. Bock smiled in response and returned to his seat, quite pleased with how he had made friends with the desert girl living in the mountains. I just watched the snow whisk by my window.c