Railway Dog

A Story by HayeyD

Very short piece I wrote as the start to, hopefully, a bigger project

Malcom’s heavy head sunk against the empty rusted metal as he listened to the hum of the hobo’s lullaby, a symphony of clinks and clanks. With every bump his eyelids shot open, only to sink back down. With the dying light, shadows cast within the car danced a lone waltz on the wall. Although alone for a time, the silhouettes cast doubt in his mind of what company he was keeping. One could never be too sure. He fought his exhaustion to the bitter end, but lost. His eyes falling shut once again as he drifted off to a place where no one could harm him, not even the demons that haunted his mind. They could come close, but would eventually fade away with the rising sun.

He dreamt of warmth and a full stomach. He dreamt of a soft bed and hope. A flash of his past life with a rush of sadness and pain. The pain escalating until his dream snapped away and he was jerked back into the harrowing reality. Curled on the hard metal ground, he clutched his gut, eyes fluttering up to a man with a gun standing over him, howling curses. He was a tall sullen man, probably in his late thirties. A bull. He wore a shirt that had a onetime been white, but now sooted with the tint of the rail. Suspenders held up his black slacks that seemed too big for his frame, and a tie looped around his thick neck like a noose. Ashes flitted to the ground from the cigarette that hung from his unsightly, twiggy lips.

“If I gotta tell you one more time to get the f**k off this train I’m gonna shoot ya, and leave ya fer dead, Ya hear me?” The man hollered, his black leather boot shooting forward into his gut once more.

All he could do was cry out in pain. The bull sighed, reaching down for Malcom’s arm, lifting him to his feet. He stumbled, as the bull pulled him towards the open container door, tossing him to the solid ground below. His rucksack following suite. He looked up at the bull standing in the opening of the car.

“Walk on, boy” He hollered as the shriek of the engine’s whistle cut through the dense air. And the containers slowly chugged past him, forsaken to the grimy population.