I Think, Therefore I Amtrak...

      As the not-so-subtle snow began to fall, he clambered onto the train with a shiver. Quickly slamming the door to barricade the cold, the forgotten father had to grasp its icy handle as the train departed. With a noisy lurch it lumbered toward whatever destination. He didn't care, so long as he was stowed away from the terrible cold. Only a wisp of wind intruded through a small hole in the boxcar door, and a family of rats nestled together for survival. The irony of freeloading made him wince, for he could have purchased the entire train in times past. He had jetted round the globe dozens of times, yet riding the rails was still his favorite method of travel.

      He'd been sneaking aboard them much of his sad life, hopping a train whenever the need for freedom overcame all else. He always found the noise immensely pleasurable, drowning out the sound of his own quixotic thoughts. Gone suddenly were the memories of a perfect spouse and her perfect house. Fading quickly after was the faces of his offspring, who had sprung off towards distance and disaster. 'Shuck-A-Whucka, Shuck-A-Whucka' was all he wanted, drowning out the recollections of squandering his soul for a business edge, of the friends he never made and the mistresses he never laid. There was only 'Shuck-A-Whucka, Shuck-A-Whucka' repeating over and over in his brain, until the train's rhythm was the entirety of his life.

      It'd been a while since he'd felt the need to ride any trains. He'd found a routine to rule the world, or at least his version of it. Power and self import were for him like exquisite delicacies, and as the life-chapters accumulated, his addiction to this fiction grew. The trains became just another baggage compartment in his skull, and every person he interacted with flattered a pleasant accolade. Now he wondered if the train in his brain had derailed the little emperor facet, or if it was simply cruel fate, or even worse, karma.

       Even above the 'Shuck-A-Wucka' the regrets and self-judgment hounded him. The stowaway's universe had imploded, and nothing could ever bring it back. His spirit of momentum had become a crash that culminated into an all-encompassing breakdown. Escape was his only answer, to the trains that had taught him how to relinquish the cares of his sad experiences. So he buried the memories of his past months into a deep corner of his mind, unaware of how persistent they would be. His fear, doubt, and pain were his only friends, like stalkers who would remain loyal to him on his journey. His final omen to follow through and hop the train was when it had begun to snow.

      He clapped his hands and performed the frostbite dance, to keep warm inside the train car. He had become soft to some of the harshness of jumping these trains since he'd moved to the penthouse in the banking district. He had hunted the rail yard for something better than a coal car, and most of these cargo cars were filthy, with the sort of grease that stays more than awhile. He was finally rewarded with a cattle car as his berth. Now, the breathing of the animals around him created an eerie fog in the dim red light. It was nearly too cold to smell.

      Lost in the noise, he thought this was a fine way to travel. Lots of fresh hay for bedding, and the livestock permitted him to snuggle against them for warmth. He laughed bitterly, thinking that these cows smelled better than some of the vagrants he'd traveled with in past chapters. At least the animals wouldn't talk his ear off, or pick his pocket while he snored. But this night he found he couldn't sleep at all, and even the Shuck-A-Whucka of the rails could not keep his mind at peace. Minutes aged into hours and still he was haunted by his worries.

      A shaft of pale moonlight was beaming from the peephole, and illuminated on the livestock's breath. 'Nothing like a cow to create a natural smoke machine.' he chuckled. Creeping over to the hole in the door, he peered out. The countryside was reflected in moonlight, and he gasped at the beauty of it all. The moon radiated off of a perfect sheen of the purest new snow, glinting from whitened tree branches. This caused him to smile, his first in many months. Without caution he opened the big door with a frozen heave, causing the disgruntled livestock to moo in complaint.

      Tiny specks of moonlight shimmered everywhere in the falling snow. The sparkles caught his eye like glitter, and he was drawn into it just as a child is enticed. After a few deep breaths, his elation was akin to euphoria. He wondered what it would be like to look out through a mirror ball as it rolled down a hill and became a snowman. He took mental snapshots of the distant, freshly gilt trees. Each one seemed to beckon to him as he sped by, and his sense of self-preservation abandoned him. Behind him lay a life of ruin, and dread thoughts which threatened to hound him to the end. Before him lay heaven on earth.

      Suddenly he desired to know this serenity, to achieve an intimacy with all the purity he beheld. Without fear or even a second thought, he leapt far from the train and tumbled into a snowdrift. Not quite unharmed, he laid inert where he landed, a smile on his face and snowflakes melting as they alit on his nose. The cold-cut cattle and the Shuck-A-Whucka of the train that carried them faded slowly from his ears as he passed in and out of consciousness.

      After what seemed like hours, he tried to move his arms and let them find their feeling. He did the same with his legs, though he had no desire to get up. After a few minutes he gave it up. The struggle for sensation seemed a pointless diversion to his baptism of wintery oneness. The snow, he discovered, with its numbing beauty, was all he ever needed. The trees cast shadows in the moonlight, stark silhouettes of uncompromising awe and splendor. A warm bliss enveloped him, bringing with it a perfect stillness. The longer he lay there, the warmer he became, until he became nothing at all.

      He finally arose, though the stowaway felt nothing like he'd experienced before. He wasn't cold or afraid or excited, he couldn't even remember his own name. Everything around him was perfectly still. Not even the sound of his heartbeat or breathing disturbed the snowy hypnosis. This was purity, a clean, new existence he could try his luck with. He turned and glanced behind him, noticing a man lying in the soft snow with a smile on his lifeless face. Around him was the shape of an angel, carved out of the very snow that made his deathbed. The cherub appeared to be cradling its frozen friend, watching over him as he lay adrift.

fin