THE TRAIN

THE TRAIN

"The world is eclipsed in black; I feel a swerve, I hear a crash, I awake."

A man shoots up from a long dreary, one that left him drenched in his panic. The man is an African American man left somewhere in his young to mid-twenties. His hair is cut short on all sides, accompanied by his plain white shirt, black jeans, and white shoes.

He looks to what's in front of him then peers to the left, only to find himself alone in his booth upon a speeding locomotive. The man looks out the window to see where he is, only to be met with darkness. The man leans back in his booth as he runs his hands through his hair. The man has no idea where he is, where he's going and without the faintest recollection of how he even came about this booth or the train.

"Hello sir, you have a ticket?" Asking, is an English man dressed as a waiter standing outside the man's booth. The man looks at him, endowed with puzzlement as he thought he was alone.

"Um, no, I don't think I'm supposed to be here." The man replies.

"Boulder dash, why by my standings, you're right where you need to be. The names Azzy by the way sir." The man looks at him. " Fitting, seemingly that's the end you speak from."

Azzy howls with laughter, "HAHaha, oh sir, humor has a way of lighting dimmed occasions, doesn't it? Keep that wit sir. You're going to need it."

The man replies, "Yeah ok, who do I talk to get some answers?"

Azzy gestures his hand towards the yellow door sitting at the end of the cart. "You'll have to speak to the conductor."

The waiter chuckles and turns to leave. The man stands up from his booth. He looks around to see he is alone again. The man begins making his way to the end of the train cart.

As he draws closer to the end of the cart, he notices random objects appearing in the booths as he passes. The first booth contains a pamphlet for Our Lady of Grace hospital sitting on its table. Next to it are two baby shoes, some comics, marbles, a few video games, and a yearbook picture of a young woman. The girl was in high school; she had long brown hair that complemented her even lighter brown eyes. Her skin was smooth and flawless, and its color akin to chestnuts.

The man picks up the picture and stares at it. "Ainsley?" He sits the image down and continues to make his way to the end of the cart.

The next booth sits pamphlets for numerous colleges; the most prevalent reads "Yorker University. Y.U? Why not you?" He sees another yearbook picture in the next booth, but a wedding ring is sitting on it this time. The man grabs the ring and looks at a college-age Ainsley.

His eyes begin to mist as salt-doused tears go down his face. He looks over in the booth to find a groom's suit. The man turns and starts heading toward the door. The next and final booth has a torn bride's dress and a sea of empty liquor bottles, and they are all joined by a retro voice machine.

Without command, the tape machine whines to life as it begins to play its contents. A grisly voice begins to speak.

"You are worthless, have been, and always will be. That girl was the only naïve creature to love something like you. She had the diligence to do what I couldn't…."

The man's hastened hand interrupts the tape as he clicks the machine off. There is a red-ridden fury that takes his eyes. A fire that ignites in his chest prompts him to act. He grabs the device and with one fatal motion, slams it on the ground, destroying it. The man collects himself and proceeds to the end of the cart. The door is bright yellow with a calendar; the date reads "June 19". The man looks and moves through the door.

The man is at a dinner party. Upon entering, He notices that there are no booths but couches. The floor is hardwood, and their fireplace is on the room's right-hand wall. There is a long table adorned with plates, glasses, and silverware.

The man looks around. "I know this place."

Everything was in order, even their calendar that they kept above the fireplace. The calendar reads June 17. He hears a shaky voice behind him calling out, "You bastard."

The man turns around to reveal a crying woman. Her hair is a dark brown, her lips full, and her eyes a lighter brown and bloodshot from tears. The man stares in confusion. "Ainsley?"

The woman comes charging at the man, she begins to attack him. The man starts to defend himself when an English accent intervenes.

"Now then, what's with all the tumult? Why we haven't made it halfway through the hor d’oeuvres."

The man turns to face the direction of the voice, he sees Azzy sitting at the table with a young woman at his side. However, this time Azzy is no longer wearing his waiter attire but is dressed in a black turtleneck, suit jacket, and is sporting thick glasses. A shocking look of realization takes the man's face.

"Azzy? But how did …." The man is cut short by a raging Ainsley.

"Tell him! Tell him about Mikayla!" Ainsley screams. Remorse and regret display themselves as he begins to boast about his guilt to her.

"Ainsley, you're right, I'm sorry, I made a mistake, and I regret it. I just want us to move pass this."

Ainsley screams. "Don't deny it!"

"Wha-what?" The man asks. Ainsley continues to scream at him.

"I saw the messages, she called me! How could you? You said we're going to build our lives together and you do this! Then you dare expect me to smile and to laugh when your friends are around."

The man pleads with her. "No, I agree with you. Ainsley, I want to get past this. I'm sorry."

"Go ahead and lie! Lie and deny what we all know." Ainsley yells. The man is confused. His words are hanging stagnant in the air and not reaching her at all. It's as if she's perfectly incapable of hearing him. The man backs up out of her sight, only to see her still arguing with nothing.

"How could you?" Ainsley screams again.

"What the…" The man exclaims. Azzy's voice rings out to the man's confusion.

"She can't hear or see you. She's just a memory playing out what already happened."

Anger swells on the man's face.

"You! What is this? Who are you?"

Azzy rebuttals. "I'm just a spectator, and if you have questions, you need to speak with the conductor."

Azzy motions to a red door at the end of the cart. Azzy rises from his chair and walks through the door; the man follows. Upon passing the threshold, he sees the cart is a bar doused in red. The booths have been replaced with bright red bar tables and lounge chairs. The carpet is dark red and the walls black. The drapes over the windows are bright red, and a sign looming up top reads "The Devil's Lounge." The bar is empty save for an older man sitting at the end of the bar, hunched over his drink.

Azzy is now behind the bar wearing a white-collar shirt with black pants and a red vest. Over his head is a calendar that reads June 18. The man looks around, baffled by his new surroundings.

"Hello there, sir; what tonic do you find most toxic? Everything behind the bar will lead you to the grave; the darker stuff will make you feel great while getting you there."

The man asks, "Some bar humor; I take it?"

Azyy chuckles. "Heard humor lights dimmed times, sir."

The man swipes the empty glasses on the bar and grabs Azzy by his collar. "What's your game, huh Jeeves? Who do you think you're toying with?"

Azzy slaps the man's hands off him. "Now that's a rude way to go about someone, isn't it? And as for the Jeeves comment..."

A grisly voice interrupts the men's argument. The old man at the bar rises from his drink and faces the men.

"Leave it barkeep, the boy's got nothing worth speaking to, and he damn sure ain't got no type of manners."

The man stares, his mind tangled and his teeth clenched.

"Dad?" He leaves Azzy and joins his father at the end of the bar. The old man glances at him from his drink but returns to finish it.

"Did I invite you boy?" The old man asks.

"Do I need an invitation to share a drink with my dad?" The man responds.

The old man takes another sip. "Didn't think I needed to extend one; looks like you got started without me."

The man peers down to see multiple glasses appearing in front of him. The man looks at the empty glasses, baffled, then turns to face his father.

"Dad, those aren't even mine; look, dad, something is going on, and the bartender is in on it! He has like clones or something…."

His rambling is cut short by his father's sharp words.

"Pathetic, never could drop the victim act, could you? You didn't mean to come here; you didn't mean to do that to Ainsley. You didn't mean to do anything! Yet here you are, sniffing after my empathy like a bloodhound! You didn't mean to get drunk, knowing any emotion worth drowning, you usher in the flood on a pub's tab!"

An intense rage begins to fuel the man's mind. He slams his hand down. The man leans in towards his father.

"Listen, old man; that's unimportant right now! There's something seriously wrong with this train! We need to get off!"

A long snarly giggle escapes the old man's lips.

"You are worthless, have been, and always will be. That girl was the only naïve creature to love something like you. She had the diligence to do what I couldn't. How did you end up a washup in your twenties? Ain't that the find yourself period? You're a screw-up, a child who's been given a grown man's suit. Whose feeble existence hinges on the delusion that he's never to blame! A man whose mind excludes anything pubescent. A man who wanders and begs, hoping misplaced empathy can lead to my pockets! Your parasite, you tangle with anything within reaching range and sap them of anything good only to crimple and die there with your host A.K.A pathetic!"

The old man slurps down the rest of his drink and lets the man have the floor.

"Now listen, dad, I'm not going to argue with you!"

The old man whips around and screams.

"Go ahead, son! Go ahead and strike your old man down! It would fall right into character with you! You might as well; you ain't getting what you came here for. No sympathy from me, no forgiveness from her, and no peace with you…pathetic!"

The man stares at him, his vision turning red. A blazing ball of rage begins forming in his chest. His hands begin to shake. Suddenly, he sees Azzy standing at the end of the train's cart in front of a purple door. The red fury subsides from the man's vision, and he comes to his senses.

The man tells his dad, "I'm not going to hit you, dad…."

Abruptly and without command, the old man's head snaps to the right. He flies out of his chair as if he's been punched. The man shoots up from his chair, confused over the fact that he didn't throw one, but quickly tries to help his father. A loud stale cackle erupts from his father.

"Hahahaha, right into character!"

The man is shocked as blood spattered laughs escape his dad's bleeding mouth. The man looks at his father and then up at the purple door. The sheer length of the cart begins to shrink, lunging the door closer and closer to the man. In a confused state of panic, the man starts lurching backward. With every step, the cart shrinks, moving the door towards him. The man backs up but, to his surprise, backs into the purple door appearing behind him. The door flies open as fire erupts from its entry point, consuming the man. He screams as he is yanked through the door, falling back in front of his living room's fireplace.

Shooting around, his head whips, grasping what happened and tackling what is happening. His living room is still the same. The table remains and its plates and the silverware are still scattered on its top. However, the calendar atop the fireplace now reads June 18. The front door is open, revealing an unkept yard doused in heavy rain. Pass the yard and in the street is a taxicab with Ainsley standing there rolling a suitcase. The man dashes through the door to her.

He screams "Ainsley!"

When he finishes his run and approaches her, she whips around and shouts.

"Get off me! I'm done listening to you!"

The man tries again to speak to her. "Ainsley, can you hear me! Ainsley, snap out of it!"

Ainsley shouts again, "Stop pleading, you knew what you were doing with her, and I know what I'm doing now!"

She takes off her ring and throws it on the ground; she then steps into the cab. The man begins shouting at her, banging on the window and the door.

"Ainsley, we're on a train! All this isn't real, my dad's in the fireplace! My dad's in the fireplace!" He shouts in a mad rage.

The taxi shifts into gear and backs up so the driver's window can meet the man. The driver is Azzy, dressed in a brown jacket, white shirt, and a brown newsie cap. He turns to the man's shocked face.

"Sorry there, sir, she can't hear you." He turns and drives away. The rain pours the same but feels twice as hard to the man. All his rage and confusion trickle into a heavy ball in his stomach. He reaches into his pant's pockets to pull out empty bottles of anti-depressants. He looks up to be standing in front of a black door. The man slowly lifts his hand and turns the knob.

Entering the next cart, he sees it composed of dark glass entirely. A body is lying on the floor, draped in a white sheet. Car parts are scattered around it with skid marks trailing off from the bodies resting place. Leering above it stands Azzy dressed as a police officer and Azzy dressed as a paramedic. Azzy, the paramedic turns to Azzy the policeman.

"It's a shame ain't it sir, a real shame." Azzy, the paramedic says to Azzy, the policemen. To which Azzy, the policeman, responds with.

"A mighty potent one at that, gives a man a reason to retort back to old habits." He says as he takes out a cigarette and begins to smoke. He offers Azzy the paramedic one. He refuses Azzy, the policeman's offer.

"None for me; I try to steer clear of those bad habits." Azzy, the paramedic says. Policeman Azzy responds with.

"Yeah, this poor chap should have taken a page from your book. If he had left it in the bottle, he would have made it to wherever he was heading. Just from the smell alone, you can tell this man was one click away from being blacked out."

Rain immediately begins pouring down from the cart's ceiling, flooding the room. The man starts to panic as the liquid begins to reach waist level. He lifts his hand from the liquid to his nose and sniffs.

"Gin?" The man says to his alarm. Broken car parts, empty liquor bottles, and hollow medicine bottles all begin to bubble to the surface and float around him. They are then followed by a calendar that reads June 19. The voice of Azzy, the paramedic, exclaims to Azzy the policeman.

"Looks like the Devil's water is the culprit here. That's ironic seeing I moonlight as a bartender." Azzy, the policeman, turns to him and speaks.

"That's funny because I moonlight as a bartender too, hahaha!" The two men burst into laughter as the cart fills with gin, and the man is submerged. The two Azzy's are gone, and now the man is alone accompanied by mangled car parts and empty alcohol and medicine bottles. Amidst the array stands a bright green door at the cart's end. The man begins to swim towards the door when a firm hand grabs his shoulder. The man looks behind him with Azzy, the paramedic standing there. He smiles warmly and says clear as day.

"Last stop sir." He releases the man. The man turns and opens the bright green door.

He pours into the next cart, gagging; he looks up, seeing he is miraculously dry and in the same cart he woke in. Sitting at his old booth sits Azzy staring out his window, smoking a cigar. This time Azzy is dressed in a black conductor's suit jacket with black pants and black shoes. Out of his pocket hangs a golden pocket watch chain. His hair is slicked back, and upon his conductor hat sits a tiny skull emblem. He is staring out the window into the pitch-black outside. The man slowly approaches Azzy.

"No point in looking out there, not much of a view." The man says—Azzy chuckles.

"That's because you never lifted the blinds." Azzy reaches to the window and pulls down the blind releasing it, letting it shoot up and roll into itself. All the blinds in the cart follow, revealing behind the blackness an entire galaxy. The man looks at the stars illuminating the planets with nebulas dancing around them. Shooting stars stream across the sky with a moon within grasping distance from the train. The man stares in awe but quickly draws his attention back to Azzy.

"I thought you didn't smoke." the man says in an ironic tone. Azzy chuckles again.

"It's a nasty habit that leads to an early grave. Of course, who needs to worry about a grave when you're already dead." The color drains from the man's face.

"Dead?" the man asks. Azzy takes a long pull from his cigar and offers it to the man. He kindly refuses.

"No thank you, I'm not too fond of cigars." He says.

"This ain't a cigar mate." Azzy responds. The man leans in and takes a big whiff of the not cigar's smoke. He straightens up to say.

"That's some very smelly tobacco." Azzy further offers it to him.

"You're going to need it." Azzy tells the man. He pleads with Azzy for answers. The man takes the joint from Azzy and leads with a long inhale. He breathes out, getting lightheaded, and joins Azzy at the booth.

"Azzy, please, who are you? What is this place?" Azzy takes another puff as he begins to explain.

"Well, for starters, I'm the man you're looking for; I'm the conductor. And hate to break it to you, but you're dead mate." A cold blanket of despair douses the man. His lip trembles in disbelief as he asks.

"Dead?" Azzy nods in agreement. He lifts a calendar marked June 19; he points to the date.

"Happened today, not too long ago. About an hour ago by my ticker. You died in a drunk driving accident. You got into the car after being heavily inebriated, swerved off the road, and boarded the train." Azzy tells him. The man, still very much so confused, asks Azzy.

"So, this is the afterlife?"

"No, this is your journey to the life after, and I your psychopomp. This train is a one-way journey that doesn't stop until you reach your final stop." Azzy tells him. The man looks at the conductor as he cocks a brow.

"Isn't that how all trains work? And what about the carts, the doors, and…Ainsley?" The man asks—Azzy stammers.

"Ye-yeah, but it sounds more cryptic in this setting. The carts and their contents are what I said before…memories." He answers.

"What do you mean memories?" The man questions.

"Protocol from the big man, it's standard for your life to play before you at the time of passing. With the more powerful moments being lingered on a tad longer." Azzy continues to explain to the man. His exposition is met with the tears of the man. Azzy sees his distress as empathy begins to take his mind.

"Oh, come now, mate, we don't need any of that. I know this is far from the plan, but what isn't? All we can do now is reminisce on what used to be and wait for what's to come." Azzy tells the man. The man turns to Azzy.

"But what about Ainsley? I never had the chance to admit my cheating or apologize." Azzy smiles at him.

"You'll get the chance, George, I promise you." A small glimmer of hope sparks within George. He asks him.

"Will I ever see her again?"

Azzy leans back in his booth. "Inevitably, no matter who we are or how we live, we all end up on the train. Let's just pray you'll see her at the station."

The glimmer begins to spark into a light of contentment. He asks Azzy one final question.

"So what now, Azzy?"

Azzy pats the seat beside him. "You can drop the Azzy and call me by my full name, Azrael. And as for your query, we forget what was and wait on what's to come."

George sits down next to Azrael, with him scooting over to make room. Azrael offers him his "cigar" again as George gently takes it from him and begins to puff. The two men sit in silence, knowing everything that needs to be said has already been acknowledged. Azrael sits knowing his job is done, George sits knowing his time is over, and the train flies full steam ahead into the stars.

The end