The Blue Train Blues

Being an existentialist, this may be one of the earliest pieces that represents some of those feels. it is designed to start slow and speed up until the very end, much like how a train would.

The bells rang out, loud and clear, in a rhythmic nature. One could easily pick up the beat if they tried. The wind kicked up the once settling dust and flew into the face of the old man. He was blind for only a split second, but it was a painful burning sensation, one that left a tear that rolled down his cheek, but not for long. He was sitting in his classic cherry red mustang; rusted doors, broken tail light, and a melted dashboard. It had seen better days and so had he. The smell of gasoline leaking from the rusted pipes made him feel slightly sick and the flashing red lights along with the sand made the man wince. The sun was setting slower than his heart could beat. The thin striped gate seemed frail and easily breakable, yet it was slowly dropping into place as if it had done this a thousand times before. The old man felt sympathetic to this notion, he knew how it felt. 'Clack' 'Clack' 'Clack' came in echoes from the distance, the beat of the lights and the impending blue behemoth was directly in tune, and as it got closer, the vibrations got stronger. He missed her more than anything in the world, the subtle soft smile, how the sun seemed to always shine on her, even on rainy days. There was always a warm breeze that accompanied her, she would always say, “even if I’m gone, you could feel me in that breeze, I’ll be there waiting.”

            Stronger now the heart was thumping, the red mustang putted black smoke from It's exhaust pipe. Louder, even louder, that behemoth, that blue train, the one he has seen thousands of times, the one she always loved, was coming soon to pick him up. What was it that she loved about that thing anyways? He turned the keys to his old friend; it kicked once more as if saying “f**k it, I'm done.” The old man couldn't help but reply “so am I good buddy, so am I.”  So many people considered that train to be an eyesore more than anything else, it was ugly, dirty, and loud. He lifted up from the seat, only to fall back again in pain, looking at his cane that he hated more than anything else, even more than black licorice, he didn't need it anymore. Once a long time ago it may have been beautyful, with a coat of electric blue paint, shining wheels, beautiful, big, and demanding attention. With one loud growl and one more push he landed on his feet, ready to face his judgment. Now, however, all he could see was a giant rusted mass of steel, with the paint all but faded and or peeled off. He swaggered and swayed, weak boned but strong willed, limping towards the gate. The graffiti that covered it wasn’t very appealing either, and the wheels had been long rusted and were now flimsy and weak looking.  He slowly laid one hand on the old thin striped gate, it was shaking uncontrollably. He has to admit though; it did seem to still have a demanding presence. The behemoth now drowned out all other sounds, the ringing of the bell was all but gone. Whenever he would ask her why she loved it so much, she would always stop and think for a second... Time had just about run out, quickly he ducked under the gate, his back writhing in pain. “It just reminds me” she would say.  Just as he had made it to the edge of track belonging to the blue train, standing out straight, hands reached out wide, the blue train ran by the old man, not even an inch away from his face. “Reminds you of what?” He would ask further. She would then come up close to him intimately staring him straight in the eye and smiling, wrapping her hands around his shoulders and neck, and leaning in for a kiss.     The intensity of the blur of blue had altered the world around him, patterns of green, blue, black, white and indistinguishable shapes led him to believe that there was only one thing, one person, who was more beautiful. Weak knee's in hand, his legs gave out to the ground, tears and dust blinding his senses. A warm breeze, sweet of summer scent, picked up from where the blue train had left off. The sun had proceeded to dig itself into the ground. The gates lifted up once again, and the street light that was hovering above turned on.   

Author's Note

I feel this story has been a very good effort but i do have an issue with it right now. i am undecided if I should separate the lines in italics by a space to further get the sensation that there is a difference of what is in his mind and what his actions are. but i fear that this move would lead to some pacing issues. this story was created to test how i could work with pace, starting slow and moving fast past you by the end and then slowing down at the very end as if a train had just passed. i hope this is represented well enough for you readers/reviewers.

Reviews

[Delmar Cooper]

I read your story and your note. This story is more compelling that the one I read earlier (the one I was unable to finish.)

I found no issue with the pacing, and white space is not a waste of page in my opinion. If it serves to emphasise the passage I vote in favor of doing so.

I thought you could do with many fewer modifiers and the piece was infested with adverbs. "Steel" was misspelled.

[A.M.]

Thanks once again. I'm glad you found it a bit more interesting than my other story.