Short Stories

The Freight Train

by Andrew Tuttle
07/26/21
For Sale
Author requests article critique

  Message Writer
  Hire Writer

Tweet

The hard, brick wall that made up the planter proved very uncomfortable. His feet planted firmly on the ground, but his butt and thighs took the brunt of the brick’s demeanor.

He got up again from his seat and looked down the tracks. The light was green, the train was still coming.

The train station was deserted and dark. At 1:30 a.m. only the safety lights were on. Nobody would see him. Not the conductor, nor a passerby. The freight train was due at 1:40 a.m. For as long as he could remember, the freight train was always on time and always there. The green light still shined. The train was coming…on time.

He sat down on the raised walkway and let his feet dangle in the tracks. He kicked a rock whenever his toe could reach one. Ten more minutes, he thought. No more worries, no more tears, no more sadness.

He thought he heard a whistle and his heart raced. Can I do this, he thought. The downward spiral ends here.

He wondered if his company would care. Would his ex-girlfriend care? Would anybody care? He prayed and looked towards the heavens. He heard once that he wouldn’t be forgiven. He prayed it wasn’t true and asked for forgiveness ahead of time.

He thought about the career he had built over the last eight years. He made it to the top a year ago and was riding high. Then one little mistake cost him everything. A mistake that everybody had done, but for him it was his job. The new executives wanted him out and he couldn’t figure out why. Fired on the spot and humiliated.

Then coming home to find a note taped to the door. Stephanie finally broke it off. Things had been bad but he felt they could work it out. Obviously she didn’t. He got drunk for the first time in his life that night. He had heard alcohol deadened the pain. It made it worse.

He returned the new car he bought. Without a job, he couldn’t afford the payments. His two interviews with the other companies went well. But then he got the telephone brush off. Without a doubt, his former bosses screwed him. With a career shot and life going nowhere fast what else could he do? Too old to start over. Where would I start, he thought.

He fantasized about shooting his former boss. But realized it was a mere fantasy. A scary one too. He tried calling Stephanie, but her number was changed. He drove to her apartment and she had moved. He had no one. No one to turn to. No one to talk to.

He looked at his watch – 1:35 a.m. He got up and stood in the tracks. He closed his eyes for a minute. He got back on the walkway and then jumped into the tracks, practicing his final move, almost spraining his ankle on a tie. Five minutes, he thought.

He watched the seconds tick off on his watch. He looked down the tracks again. A green light. He listened silently. No whistle or rumbling yet. He picked up a rock and threw it. 1:37 a.m.

He thought about a note. He wouldn’t know what to say. He wanted it anonymous. He wanted people to feel guilt. His watched clicked to 1:38. He looked down the tracks. Still green. He didn’t want to be bothered and he didn’t want to be a bother. Apparently, he’d been a bother to too many people long enough.

He heard a glass bottle crash about 25 yards away.  He ducked down on the tracks and watched a bum slowly make his way across the station parking lot. He saw him peek into two cars left overnight. He sat back on the brick wall. 

“Poor soul,” he mumbled to himself.

He looked at his watch, 1:41 a.m. He looked at the green light. Maybe it’s late. He looked at the stars again. He thought about Stephanie. Where could I start? He thought to himself. Nowhere was his answer.

He stared at the tracks for a minute. My grave. My coffin. He looked at his watch again. 1:45 a.m. What the hell? He looked down the tracks again. Still green. He stared and listened. No whistle, no rumbling. I should be able to hear it at least a minute in advance, he thought.

The green light suddenly turned red. His eyes bulged out. He looked down at the rails and rubbed his eyes then looked back down the tracks. Red. No train. He stared at the tracks again. My coffin, my grave. He looked down the tracks again. Red.

He got up and walked home.