Enginesong

Double-length today, because as long as I'm breaking all of my own rules, I might as well give a story room to breathe a bit.  This one is inspired by my friend Lanse's models, a belated response to his invitation to write a story about any figure on his gallery page.

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The day the trains grew legs, I was hunting.  I didn't find out about it till I got home with two fresh conies and a powerful thirst.  Just up and walked away.

"Where'd they go?" I asked, staring at the platter-sized footprints.

Everyone shrugged.  "Away," said Toby.  "They won't be coming back, I don't reckon."

Well, there was nothing for it but to take over, just like I'd done for Bess after Pa went.  I handed my conies to Toby, took a drink from the water tank, and stepped onto the tracks. 

Sometimes I wonder about them trains, where they got to and what they did there.  I wonder if they kept their legs for walking free or if they built their own tracks.  I take a bit longer to get up to speed, and I work up a mighty thirst even now, but there ain't no one else. 

When it all gets too much, I tilt back my head and whistle with all my might into the dark.  Sometimes I fancy I hear someone calling back across the plains, but I won't ever know for sure it isn't an echo.  I can't leave the tracks.  Not now.  Not anymore.

Not Exactly Express

The train slithered into the station in near-silence, pallid and gleaming like a mushroom. I checked the schedule; the next train wasn't due for six minutes. Through the conductor's window, I glimpsed white bone and empty sockets.

The doors creaked open, and the man beside me started forward. "Hold on," I said, grabbing at his sleeve. "I don't think that's the regular run."

The man called to the driver, "You going east?"

A shadowed nod. "We go everywhere, eventually."

"Good enough." He tugged his arm free. I watched the doors close behind him, and the train crept forward into darkness.