The Train To Nowhere

chapter 6 - atypical happenings

It was a couple days later that I first glimpsed something suspicious lurking on the edge of the forest. I went to sleep before my usual time the previous night so I could wake up that day half an hour earlier. It was a school day, but once a week I managed just enough initiative to pull myself from my bed while the sun was still rising and head out of the house for a jog. Sometimes Noah and I ran together, and other times it was just me. After our win in the last big basketball match (which only happened thrice a year) back in July of Year Eleven, Mr Brown, our coach was as motivated as ever.

"We did it last year boys!" Mr Brown would shout as we plodded on to the court in the sports hall every Tuesday and Thursday after school. "Let's make this season count. KEEP IT UP, BOYS! KEEP IT UP!" He'd yell it in our ears sometimes when he saw us slacking a little during a game. Maybe we'd missed a strike or were dopey-eyed passing the ball. It was an efficient technique to say the least, but you couldn't deny it was the slightest bit too eager. Anyway, he'd suggested we all go for a morning jog before school or after school at least weekly, so that we were keeping fit outside our practices.

I wasn't like some of the other boys on my team though. Because unlike guys like Dave and Paul, I found that there were other ways to occupy your Saturday other than two hour workouts at the gym and my greatest perks in life weren't hitting the top line on that hand-pushy thing and managing to heave those ten kilo steel bars. I don't even know what they're called, that's how little I know about the gym.

It also just so happened to be that almost all of the players on our team were black, including me. We had eighteen players (nine that were substitutes) and excepting Isaac, Ben and Phil (who's Asian) that's pretty much it. That's just how our basketball team was.

When I did want to train though, I preferred hitting the local basketball court next to the playground in Penning Park and shooting a few hoops to clear my head. Or heading to the sports hall when it was empty with Noah after a stressful day at school. Everyone in the Sixth Form on the basketball team was permitted to go in there unsupervised to practice if they needed to. Sometimes I'd even go to the swimming pool and swim just under a mile (around twenty laps) to make myself feel better. But I wasn't a total meathead like many of the guys in basketball. Much as I loved the sport it wasn't all that preoccupied my time, and it was more of a hobby now rather than an ambition for the future. Originally when I'd joined the team in Year Nine I'd thought it would be, but it's been three years since then and my outlook on my future has changed. I still don't really even know what I want for a career. I should figure it out soon though, because I was sixteen and turning seventeen in March.

My thoughts were as foggy as the air in Woodeshire that fresh, chilly morning on the 18th September. I checked my watch just to make sure that I was going well for time. It read 7:55 pm. I really was proud of myself for dragging my long body out of bed so early that morning. I usually didn't even have enough motivation to stretch my arm out and slam my fist down on the snooze button. But anyway, I had plenty of time. I kept jogging. And it was peaceful. It felt good. I was clearing my head as I ran, instead of usually being consumed by thoughts. Sometimes I didn't even have the stamina to jog for that long, so I would just sprint and then walk, sprint and then walk. Considering my last efforts, today was an achievement.

After a few minutes I could feel my face growing hotter and the rest of my body warm up even in the refreshing coolness of outside. My feet bounced off the soft soil in my Nike Air trainers (they were quite light so didn't make much of a sound) and I flapped my grey hoodie back and fourth on me to fan my hot, sweaty chest. I ran past the tree I usually saw on my walks through the woods with the bird shit still splattered over the carving of Isaac and Priya's initials they made in Year Eight. That used to make me laugh when it was obvious they just wanted attention back then. And when they "broke up" in Year Ten, only to get back together again three months later. My breathing became faster as I gasped for more oxygen to respire, and I wiped my sweaty forehead with the back of my hand. It slipped off quicker with the dampness. I needed to stop soon. But I kept going to push out of my comfort zone for a little longer.