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Dream Train, 2

Rail-switch; but This Comes with Affliction

By Patrick M. WegnerPublished 11 months ago Updated 11 months ago 4 min read

The pipe-organs from whatever far-flung locale abruptly silenced some time ago. I didn't notice when, and I don't care right now. What moment did I just lose? What experience did I just miss? I wanted to kill her minutes ago, and I already imagine a kiss? What in the hell is this?

Never we mind that these thoughts are irrelevant, subjective and best left side-lined; as close amiss as Time is afar understood relative. I just stood there staring at the door ahead. Between my 9mm and the hand held by it, I couldn't tell which one had just passed away- dead.

"Gal was cute as a bug's ear, the infernal crumb," I muttered.

Sliding a foot laterally to the side, I holstered the heater with a slow pivot away from door 5, which seemed so distant. I still wanted the shower from prior. I opened the door through which I recklessly swung into this car: number 'four.' A visual sweep as a quick glance over my shoulder affirmed that chaos appeared asleep. 'Twas by some law of utter absurdity that the surroundings behind were placid. Look here, a plain old bathroom quietly sits in front of me. If there were any further tricks or zombies, 'twould be of the smallest matters. My eyes were fizzling half-massed, Time slowed and a migraine was building fast.

"d i zz y..........," I thought as I stumbled in.

A deeper calm settled in at the gentle click of the door as it shut behind me. That devil-dame, my own will or some freak-of-maybe must've provided the security; or a coming demise unseemly. We shall see won't we. 'Twas my attitude presently. I was both intent on murder and panged over bee's knees, while my heart floundered in the gutter. I just want to fall asleep & forget everything about this train, and her.

The bathroom was pleasantly quaint, nothing amazing nor anything boring. All things inside seemed to be crafted of alabaster, yet not everything was white. I couldn't decide if it struck me as clean or dangerously sterile. There was a large ellipsoidal mirror above a wash-and-stand sink to my right. To my left was the odd placement of a storage closet with the shower just behind it.

I removed my overcoat and slung it over my shoulder to splash cold water on my face, "Wake up ...already behind the eight ball..."

I bent forward to turn the right knob. I felt something wet descend along the side of my neck. Behind me...?

Alarmed, I swung around to zero my blind-spots.


I placed my hand where my head dry-gulched the floor when that clownish broad won over me, having more than one over me, grilling darkly and almost fogging me.

I was bleeding, and there was a black ichor in the blood...



I'm helpless before all misfortune and whimsy. A hitman I am surely, so where it concerns lives, I know nothing of saving. My overcoat slid to the floor off my shoulder and I surrendered my palms to the edge of the sink. Leaning forward, I stalled regret away from facing the mirror by looking to my left at an. . . iridescent towel hung from an hourglass bar???

I went on to evaluate a final reflection. My vision started losing focus and behind my eyes I thought I gleaned throngs of black locusts.

" this the big sleep.... . . .?"


Dirt's in my mouth. A muggy chill creeped into my bones. I can't see. My eyes are shut. I can't open them? I don't want them to open. I want to stack hits. That is what's easy. Do I like her because she's hard? No. I'm not a feel-flake, and she is as out for blood at night as I might. Her command of the cross-winch is taut. A keen killer-sheba. Queen of huge-thorns-in-my-side. Did I see her thoughts? I saw a name just in time.

What this is can't be sold, no Jack dumb enough to haggle for this crud. Can't be bought, there are no grands to refund & this arrow costs blood.


"GAT! The blood!?"

"Yu'z better git up before I kick yu'z over and put the screws on," said a familiar voice, "Y'er going to have two choices: nevada gas or a round of slugs."

"Close your face. I'll count flutterbies on my feet, thanks," I groaned.

Lazily spitting out little grassy dirt-clods, I rolled onto my back and opened my eyes. This is revolting. I'm alive, and I'm...outside? I hurriedly sat up and I.. *thought* I'd see Giovanni crossing his arms and sneering. I ducked forward to feel the back of my head. No wound? It's dry?

Where am I?

And why do I have tears falling.

There was a softly-glowing moon misted behind pillar-clouds that flew silently across the evening sky. Cradling themselves for miles over and into the night, I felt a chill crawl up my spine. I did appreciate the surrounding rolling hills as far as my eye could see, lush and dark-green. Before me was a towering lattice gate; the which, I am very curious as to why 'twas the last thing I went a-noticing. It appeared to be an entry to a vast and thorny rose garden.

A maze....?

Well this is nice-and-outta-the-way....



About the Creator

Patrick M. Wegner

I am a Malkavian that made it to ceremorphosis by accident; then I took my sweet time consuming the host implanted. I bear no prestige and no accolades. My only degrees rest in the spheres of passion, expression and ingenious stupidity.

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