High on teen spirit: The Train

Tendrils of fog crept in reluctantly from the forest, warily advancing, slipping in and out of sight. Every reverberation of the pocket watch was distinguishable, every one of my heartbeats in sync. A torrent ripped through my mind, thoughts tossed over in the savage waves, it’s landscape demolished by the winds of indecision and the thunder of doubt. The platform was bare, save my desolate figure alternating my gaze between my watch and the railway tracks, expecting the familiar rattle to begin.

The paper white snow hills had turned jet black, the night’s ink spreading over it’s helpless canvas. The trees rustled occasionally, the only break to change the monotony of the night. Yet I waited for the bright red train to roll cheerily into the station, as I had from my youngest days. Perhaps today would be the first night it would not. The weight of the badge on my chest increased twofold. My uniform itched, almost sentient. My mother had always told me that my conscience would be the death of me, but it fell to deaf ears. Perhaps all my years had been deaf, advice lost to my brain. My father had once stood here just as I did, every night, making sure that last empty train made it back. He had fought bandits, fended off wolves, set out fires, but that cheerful red train always found it’s way back home, even if he did not. I stepped off the platform, and began walking along the worn metal tracks. My feet groaned with tiredness, while my stomach threw insults with hunger. I prayed for the soothing sound of the rattling tracks to begin. My mind played the false magician by tricking me into hearing it, but my sense of duty trumped that of self-preservation. I crossed the nearest hill, trudging through the thick snow that had adorned the faces of the hill, makeup for the night out. I followed the winding tracks up the mountain all the way till the pass, but nothing was in sight. If it were in the forest, a dark plume of smoke would have signified its position. I ran down, tears streaking my eyes.

I lay on the tracks, tears blurring my vision and I looked up at the bright stars. I had failed. The badge on my chest dug into my heart, a heated dagger singing my flesh. I pulled it from my chest and brought it to my wrist. There I lay in the now red snow, crying myself to sleep. The track below me moved.

The author loves skipping homework as much as he loves watching football. But hey, he’s fourteen, after all.)

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