There was nobody in sight.
Knowing the patrols meant he could determine which route they were taking on a particular day, when he was allowed to find this region, cursed and decrepit in many ways, as somber and lonely as needed.
He did today.
On the horizon, the sun was doing little shining, in fact obscured behind the bruising clouds, appearing as if a newly acquired, and slowly aging cut.
The sky glowered.
But beneath its feathery person, the rails appeared like a cemetery without a church; they stretched, vast and in so many ways endless, even though this misnomer would weigh heavy on those familiar with its borders; where the rail tracks were no more, where they faded deep underground, either buried there by nature and time, or lost within the hands of greed and lust, the proverbial borders of this region began and resumed their majestic power by the means of a land of only soil; and only footholds; and only roads walked upon, or those abandoned in light of some others, newly sprouted or made on the spot by those favoring their survival over a little familiar walk.
There, the shrubbery began too, and even if the world had not succumbed to a toxic collapse, there was a way to the trees-- a way that dwindled their might; no longer as green as according to the books, keener to appear ashen in color, surely the nature’s need to match the buildings here, as ashen, if not more; like titans, like angry, and slumbering gods, the buildings existed in a clutch here, their rooftops gone; their windows were non-existent, and in some light and sometimes with the sun gone, you could swear ghosts migrated past those very windows; you could see shadows, lively, and too-sentient shadows shifting, and flickering like whatever evil had lain this place to waste, time, and neglect, and man, happened to lurk in the buildings after all, hungry, and mad.
But it wasn’t the folk tales that Jessie was here for.
It wasn’t even a mission--
Though he crept though the tunnels made by the rail cars, darkened in places where the cars leaned in, resting almost side to a side like husband and wife--
Though he crept through them, and made his way with a purpose like he was on one.
Though he had an idea firm on his mind, and sturdy, and driving him forth, and the day was welcome to die many hours from now on and counting, eight, eight, eight--
Eight hours still when he reached the spot; a rail car, of course; no contents inside, also of course; a little hatch in the floor, though, a floor flat with the ground below, and when yanked up, when you had pliers or the key required, there was a hole; lined with plastic, lined with objects intended to protect it; within it some objects for secrets, and Jessie crouched at the edge of the hatch, and reached inside like he were recovering a treasure of sorts.
It was.
Within his hold, the walkman was a fantastic treasure-- and the cassettes he had collected, and that guitar he had there--
And the vinyl records, and other little objects--
Even a triangle, a steel rod bend in the shape and looking magical, and fascinating, and forbidden.
He never seemed to play that one, failing even to master the guitar-- which would be easier to learn were there a teacher about, telling him how; where to put his fingers; which tune meant what.
If.
But Jessie didn’t really need a teacher, ultimately; not for what he could do.
It was six hours left until sunset when he finally left the car; the hatch had been closed, the objects returned within their hole; and his fingers smelled like strings, and music when he emerged through a side entrance, being just a hole torn into the once-wall of the car, forcing him to swing up and onto the car itself if he wanted to be off.
And then to walk on top of the train cars sitting as neighbors, his arms out, his mind lost in a lie; he felt a child; a beautiful, and innocent child burdened by the sweetest pleasures, the kindest sorts; of a meal to later devour, a drink to sip on while eating dinner, and a song--
A song to hum to himself--
In this ill, bad world.
And so, with his arms spread out, and with him walking atop the cars linked together still, and retreating farther and father in-land, nearing the very same proverbial boundaries of this world and where no guards were, where he saw no patrols just quiet, and that was all--
He sang, and he sang out loud.
Like an eerie wave of all things wrong, it rang out right, and spread in a tone that should not have been as fine as it was.
I could stay awake just to hear you breathing...
Watch you smile while you are sleeping, while you're far away and dreaming.
I could spend my life in this sweet s u r r e n d e r...
I could stay lost in this moment forever
Every moment spent with you is a moment I treasure--
Posted 05-20-2021, 12:15 PM
This post was last modified: 05-20-2021, 12:15 PM by Jessie Michels
I Don't Want to Miss a Thing
