THE DANGEROUS TRAIN RIDE
by Brandon Scott Fox
Copyright 2013 Brandon Scott Fox
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Cover by Brandon Scott Fox © 2013 All rights reserved
“Blasted! Where has that darn girl run off to now!?”
The old man in the dark-green suit sauntered out of the ticket station and out next to the train. It was hard to tell exactly how old the man was, but he was certainly at that specific age, where every hair in his bushy beard, around the sides of his bald head, was completely white.
A brown satchel was across his chest, tucked under his right arm.
He was walking alongside the idle locomotive—large, black and steaming it was—pacing down the line of the soon-to-depart train, a rather uneasy look upon his elderly face.
Porters were running back and forth with bags of last minute luggage to load onto the train; women in pigeon blouses carrying paper umbrellas scurried to and fro bidding adieu to men in three-piece suits and grey felt hats; and past-middle-aged women patted made-up eyes with red handkerchiefs, standing next to their mustached husbands waving goodbye to departing children.
The old man with the white beard pulled a gold chain watch from his suit vest. He flicked it open and looked at it through gold-rimmed glasses. His eyes were troubled.
‘This girl’s beginning to be more trouble than she’s worth,’ he thought.
He shut the watch abruptly, tucked it away with a dissatisfied grunt. A single bead of sweat rolled down the side of his wide forehead and disappeared into the white hair of his temple.
The old man loosened his brown tie and pulled at the collar of his light-yellow shirt. He was overdressed for the occasion and he knew it.
‘Dressed for my funeral,’ he thought. His other hand was on the satchel, always on the satchel. Always holding it close to his body.
“Maybe she went back to the balloon stand, Astor. That’s all she kept on talking about once we got here….”
This voice was light and soft and bright—directly the opposite of the old man’s— and came from below the elder’s waist.
It was that of a boy. A young, tan boy.
The old man stopped suddenly, standing completely straight. He crouched next to the boy. With a cold, stern face he whispered:
“Remember, you are never to call me that! I am ‘Papa’. Papa!”
The small swarthy boy slammed his hand to his mouth in realization.
“Maybe she’s at the balloon stand, Papa!” he said again, emphasizing with loudness.
The old man held his forehead in his hand.
‘Bad actor,’ he thought.
The boy had on brown wool shorts, pleated and cuffed, a short-sleeved white oxford, black socks and little black shoes. A brown flatcap was down over his face.
“How troublesome!” the old man grumbled. “I specifically told her not to leave my side!”
A voice sounded on the loudspeakers then:
‘ATTENTION ALL PASSENGERS—THE TRAIN TO TRUX WILL BE DEPARTING IN TWO MINUTES—ALL REMAINING PASSEGERS PLEASE BOARD THE TRAIN—REPEAT—ALL PASSENGERS—THE TRAIN TO TRUX WILL BE DEPARTING IN TWO MINUTES—ALL REMAINING PASSENGERS …’
“Blast that darn girl!!!”
The Dangerous Train Ride
© 2013 Brandon Scott Fox
All rights reserved
The Dangerous Train Ride (1 of 4) Page 1
