The train came to a gradual stop while the brakes let out an awful screech. The passengers squirmed around in their seats and despaired over the unexpected stop. Many of them poked their heads out into the aisle or above the seats, searching for what could possibly be delaying their journey home at the end of a long workday. The windows were as cloudy as the sky outside and provided no hints either.
The train’s driver made some long announcement on the loudspeaker, but his message was completely garbled by the terrible quality of the microphone. Everyone stared blankly at the metal grate of the speaker as the vaguely human sounds spilled out of it. Near the end of the driver’s broadcast of mumbled, unintelligible phrases, some of the passengers could make out one sentence;
“One’s on the track again.”
Translations of the driver’s message started to spread up and down the train. From each car, scattered complaints and sighs could be heard. Some passengers began to make phone calls to notify loved ones and coworkers of their potential delay. Others, who previously would never imagine speaking to each other, leaned over and asked questions such as, “how long will this take?” or “do we have to get off the train?” The level of inconvenience was unclear. It could be minutes or hours until they were moving again.
One group of passengers sitting near the middle of the train were all trying to catch a glimpse of the delay through their windows, mostly to see if any work was being done to alleviate their excruciating wait-time. A young man was overheard asking his friend, “How did it even get on the track?” One woman spoke out, “They don’t move for hours sometimes, we could be here awhile.” The whole car lamented the idea of another hour on the train, and then internally accepted the possibility. Another woman wiped the condensation from her window using her sleeve. She saw this one had quite a lot of legs and limbs. It was a big one, nearly as long as half the train, so she sent a text message to her fiancé that she would certainly be late for dinner.
The passengers in the first three cars were the most inconvenienced, having to deal with the vibrations and humming sounds coming from the thing. As it leaned against the train and breathed, the first few train cars gently shook with each exhalation. Most of these people moved back a few cars to find a new seat or increased the volume of their headphones. A drunk business man’s snoring competed with the thing’s, and the rhythm of their breathing would sync for a few moments, and then individualize again.
The conductor stopped by each car in an attempt to ease the concern of the passengers, telling them that the crew was working on the issue and the train would be on its way as soon as possible. He also wanted to just go home, but this was only the first ride of his shift, so he maintained his rigid courtesy. “This happens from time to time, but they always move eventually,” he would say with an appropriately light smile. It was true, they usually would move on their own, especially when all the parts of them were cleared out of the way.
Outside, some frustrated civilian vehicles were trying to continue down the road, but it was blocked by the stopped train. They pointlessly honked their horns, then made three-point turns, and maneuvered around massive flagella-like flesh stalks to turn back the way they came. One man made an impolite gesture at the thing, and felt foolish a few moments later while it blankly stared through him.
The passengers endured several more minutes of painful waiting, but finally a work truck arrived outside, and a flow of neon-orange vested men poured out of it. They surrounded the front of the train in bright cones and various other forms of pedestrian blockage, carefully placing them between dozens of large appendages resting limp from the sides of the train to the surrounding street. They also unloaded an assortment of tools from their vehicle, jacks and planks, which would be used to move it or promote it to move itself.
They worked around its body for some time, arranging the needed tools and mechanics to do the job. After the foreman’s countdown and a signaling shout, multiple men pushed their combined weight into its body. The thing shifted slightly, and a mildly irritated grumble came from it. With a few more heaves supported by the planks they had slid underneath its body, it rolled off the tracks and further away from the train. It continued to lie dormant on a grassy section away from the road, seemingly unbothered by its forced relocation. To move its limbs out of the street, the men arched their backs and let out dramatic noises as they dragged the great flesh along the ground. They surveyed the train’s exterior one last time and finally cleared the driver to resume his duties.
Another minute passed, the conductor did his walk from front to back. The driver ensured all was operational. After a satisfying hiss, the train began to roll forward. The air was immediately full of relief and elation. They were back on their way! The driver thanked the passengers for their patience, but hardly anyone understood what he said again. Everyone settled into their seats, the train began to pick up speed, and a tiny little boy waved goodbye to the colossal eyeball passing by his window.
Story Notes
I like this story, but whenever I read it I feel worried that it’s a bit of a “nothing burger.” I enjoyed the challenge of writing about a subject that’s mostly obscured from the reader, characters, and the “camera.” Oh well, onto the next one.
Thomas Mazzaferro 