Well I’m glad that you enjoyed it (even though your reveiw was less than constructive) please come back and read more as I continue to add more to the story and I believe you can see the meaning more clearly by the end. Weather it is my meaning for you or your meaning for yourself. :)
Short Story / The Wrong Train
The first few steps, were the easiest. Each step afterward, I felt more tired and my strength only felt more limited as I became more determined to take the easier route home. As I boarded the seemingly lonely train, I stepped up into the hallway of the poorly lit car. I sat myself down on a slightly cushioned piece of plastic next to the window. I closed my eyes and felt the train jerk and start to move. I knew what I was going to see out of that window. Out of that rusted framed glass, past the beautifully painted blue sky, beyond the lush of the tree’s green, even further than all of the architect of the houses waiting for a family to construct the home, there was the inevitable insatiability and doubt.
I knew, before I opened my eyes, I’d see the children with guns, the starving families, the murderers, the hustlers, the war. The crimes committed and the criminals committing. The constant destruction and reconstruction. I saw all the mutilation in everything seemingly innocent and the unveiling of poison in the seemingly pure. Before my eyes could physically see, I saw the scars inflicted from daily force.
What made you do what you did today? Would it be different if no one else existed in that instant? If society hadn’t taken your freedom of perception, where would we be? Or what could we see? My eyes still closed, I saw the constant taking of: The thievery. I knew opening my eyes would lead me to deception. So I kept them closed. And I still saw the condemners and the condemned.
I felt water on the top of my knees, through my jeans. All down my cheek, flooded. When I opened my eyes, to see that beautiful scenery, I was already being blinded by my own jaded cloud of thoughts. I couldn’t see and only felt the hot sun beat down on my face like the rage I possessed all these years. I contemplated if I should so selfishly leave you alone in your land of cost. I contemplated if I could ever have the ability to save you.
When the beauty of the sight through the window became too overwhelmingly painful, I looked down towards my lap. However, not really looking, or staring, at anything at all.
I’m imagining myself naked. You’re imagining your bare ass. And the scars that have decorated your skin; from the small, fading scratches and burns to the still bleeding wounds that stretch from one corner of your back to the other. And all I can do is wonder if I should hate the weapon that scarred me this way. The weapon that made me ugly. Or maybe the weapons existence is only persistent because of the person who wields it. Should I hate the convict and not what he is guilty of? Or maybe I should hate the victim for never letting the god damn wounds, stretched across such an ugly body heal.
The train makes a stop. I don’t know where I am. I wasn’t heading anywhere so I don’t really care either. Someone got onto the train a car back from me but got back off when he was told how much the ride was.
I’m going to have to pay soon if the ticket man sees me. Although it doesn’t matter right now because my car is empty and the ticket man is heading for the back first. Probably because they seem to be the last ones to know where they’re headed. The last ones to be aware of the payment due for the place they’re being taken to.
I look out the window, for a second time, and try to stare ahead of the train. I see the tracks curving out to the left so that I can see the rails and I imagine the ones I’ve left behind.
I get cold from the steel rim around the chair. I hug myself and feel my soft skin. I look down and I’m still naked. I’m still naked and it’s not any less comfortable than before. More comfortable. I put my bare feet on the edge of the chair with my heels pressing against my butt and my knees to my pointed breasts.
I thought I was only imagining myself exposed. Maybe I was imagining the jeans.
Perception is existence.
I know anyone could see me as well as I can imagine myself naked and curled in the chair of some godforsaken train.
Transparent, defective, and perverted.
You’re all alone on a train without clothes or a suitcase. You left a family, a home, friends. You left it behind with the guaranteed future, warmth and food. The world inside a world. The safer place to be. You left that haven. And all you can think about is how you’re going to get off. How you’ll kill yourself this time. How you’ll make yourself cum.
My legs embraced, I wondered if the tracks I’ve traveled and left even matter. If it’s where I’m headed that should. I wondered if the past ever even existed. If what is now is all that exists. But if it were the present that carried existence then do our stories even matter? Will it matter to you? Will it matter to them? Should it matter to myself? Because a second goes by and I didn’t think that moment mattered much at all.
I pressed my face to the dirty window and stared into my eye’s reflections. I saw my mother. I saw my brother. I saw my father. I saw the angry fights turning into violent nights and it was always sex and war for me.
My mother always the victim. Her co-dependency had killed her more slow than the pain that had been brought onto her when she was young. She was tortured by her chronic need to play that wounded child.
The toxicity we chose to create and breath over the oxygen already produced.
My father, strong and ambitious, had gotten what he wanted. Never a dad but always a father. The God of the household as well as the provider.
Typical but corrupt. Twisted but American.
In my eyes, I see my younger brother growing up to be just like me. Just like me but different. The perfect mix between two people. The ultimate combination of perfected and flawed genetics and qualities. I saw my brother, the second living embryo, influenced greatly to obtain the worse success.
With my head to the window, I can feel the vibration of movement. I hold my legs closer and hug my calves to my thighs even tighter. The cold wind pressing through the window on my cheek makes the hairs on my arm stand up even straighter.
Violated. Already used.
While I had let the bitter tears on my cheek air dry, I thought about a cure.
What you want is a cure. A cure for what? You want a cure for what? For everything you’ve done wrong? For everything you could’ve done right? You want a time machine?
Redemption. Prosperity.
It’s what we’re all begging for. But continue to fail and realize. A savior, like Jesus Christ or some divine power, can’t be found . Not here. Or else where. And the further any of us continue to look for Heracles, the more we fail to change anything at all.
Non-existent. A sham.
I didn’t notice him, but a man came onto my car. All these empty seats made me think why he chose to sit next to me. Then soon after it crossed my mind what he thinks of my bare body quivering next to him. Would he find it strange or seemingly attractive? My exposed right side on his clothed leg. The feeling gave me a shock of warmth throughout for only a moment. I haven’t looked at him yet. Only felt his leg on my side. I turn to look at him and pull away slightly; politely. He’s tall and not much older than me but significantly enough. He’s already staring at my breasts spilling out from in between my body and my knees. He studies my skin‘s every curve. Imagining my hidden stomach and what’s covered in between my legs until he looks up and sees me staring at his curious blue eyes. He looks away, suddenly embarrassed. I wonder what he sees. Had I asked him, his hopes of getting to know me would have failed. I didn’t want him to fail. I wanted the comfort. I wanted to be loved and studied, viewed without flaw in his imaginary history book for something great, just for a little. Lincoln for a half an hour.
He pulls out a phone from deep in the large pockets in the front of his jeans and looks down at the time. Then places the phone back, looks out the window past me, and sighs. I’m still staring at him when he does this. He notices and looks me in the eyes for the first time. “Are you cold?” he says as he lifts a hand to place it on the top of the chair resting behind my neck.
I feel a little tighter waiting for him to touch me as I say, “Kind of.” His right arm pulls away from his side and closer to the top of my knee. I touch his hand to reassure myself his palm will remain stationary. His hand placed up on the chair slides down to frame my shoulders. His skin on mine felt so warm. His thin clothed t-shirt gently touching my right shoulder so comfortably made me want to collapse into his side. I tilted my head towards the inside of his arm and he knew to pull me closer. Resting on him, I still held my body even tighter.
“What’s your name?” his voice seemed like a prayer and I blessed him with my name. In return, he told me that his name was Morpheus.
“That’s a strange name,”
“How?”
“I’ve never heard it before,” I said so serious that it amused him somehow and aroused a slight laugh then a quick transition to another topic. He asked me what I was doing here. “Doing where? Because specifically I am sitting, breathing, and functioning as a human would averagely go about. But if you mean what are my intentions? I don’t know. I’ve slipped in some kind of apathy,” I could tell I talked too much and this was less appealing then when I had kept my appearance separate from the sight.
Capture the image not the meaning.
I made the decision to be a little less honest and open. Have the conversation carry as he pleased. “Anyways, where are you headed to?” He laughed and said that he was going somewhere wonderful. He said that he was going to go somewhere beautiful.
“I plan on going somewhere far. Away from heartbreak. So if you’re not heading anywhere specific, I’d like to take you with me.”
“Why?”
“Because I think you might like the scenery better there than here,”
“But where is there?”
“Not far from here,”
“Ok.”
“Ok?”
“Yeah, ok. I’ll go with you,” I wasn’t the least bit nervous and he smiled largely when I agreed. He decided that he loved me and continued on about this paradise. He talked about how the grass always stayed green and the temperature was always just right. He said the only way to go there was in pairs because it’s such a shame to waste a scenery alone. He said otherwise, it’s not beautiful.
I fell in love with the stories of this land and soon I fell in love with him for giving them to me. I was looking up and resting my chin on the left side of his chest when he asked if I wanted to borrow a sweater. Without an answer he reached into a bag, I hadn’t noticed laying beside his feet in the walkway of the car, and he pulled out a very large pullover sweatshirt. I sat up straight and released my legs and grabbed the hooded sweatshirt. Quickly, I pulled it over my head and stood up a little to have the bottom of the sweatshirt almost hit my knees and I was covered. I laid my head back onto his rib cage where I started to listen and heard his heart of which I would’ve never imagined existed in anyone-these organs-until I’ve experienced it’s drum. I imagined the veins that decorated the bloody thing and the lungs that hugged it. I gave him an imaginary autopsy while he played with the hair on the top of my head.
He delicately outlined my body as I wondered where his organs were placed. I asked him to sing to me as we both waited for the arrival of our paradise. He sang some odd tune I never heard before and he wasn’t that great at singing either. I closed my eyes experiencing what felt like the first dream I had reached in years.
He’s standing, naked, in an exotic scene of tropical and foreign plants that reach out to an ocean too mischievously beautiful. My long, sun-blonde hair flows down my left shoulder to my hip. I’m playing with the ends until I notice I’m bare too. I feel the sun through the trees penetrate my skin like a burst of life. I go over to meet Morpheus standing where the sand and the grass meet. His back faced towards me. I walk up and I grab his palm. Less than surprised, he doesn’t look at me but leads me to the water as if he knew exactly what to do. The sand is less manipulative as we reach out our toes to the warm water. Waist deep, he stops to cup the water only to pour it onto my head. He repeats this until my hair is drenched and all I do is cross my arms assuming that he knows what’s best for me. My hair soaked, he opens up my arms and puts my hands on his waist. I smile and pull myself in. He touches my face, to my neck, down past my breast, molesting each curve of my body. I didn’t mind. He starts to fondle what’s left of me and I pull away. He won’t let me go and a storm starts to rise. I didn’t mind. It was inevitable that I’d be on my knees and I didn’t mind. But this scene was far from Eden of what he described. He planned from the beginning of my sad little dream.
Manipulation. Persuasion.
I woke up with my head against the window and I looked over expecting to see someone but nobody was there. Something was. What was left of Morpheus. I was asleep and throughout my dreaming something was left behind. Someone had left a dirty condom. Tied and cum-filled was a condom on the edge of the seat, about to fall.
Expectations. Promise.
I wanted it to sit next to me still. I wanted him to sit next to me still. You know, that person that changed you from a person to an object. The seat was sticking to me. Though, I didn’t cry, I knew that I was placed to work robotically for the pleasure of someone else and this gave me a sort of heart ache that never went away.
Eden never existed.
While staring at the condom and almost puking at the newfound stink, I thought about Eris. I stood up a little peeling myself from the chair then sitting back down, repositioned, and squished legs crossing them on the chair making my knee almost touching the condom to the right of me. I stared at the back of the chair in front of me and thought about the phone call I received not that long ago but it seemed like it was a call from the past.
Before I got on this train, but after I was already tainted, I got a call from Eris. She found my number somehow and called me. I didn’t mind. In fact I was so curious of the past that I had with her that I welcomed her call. “Hello?” I was already trying to swallow some unexpected feelings.
“Hey,” she paused for a moment trying to prepare herself for the apology we both expected. She said that she was sorry for all the things that she did and she never meant to hurt me. I didn’t know specifically what she was talking about but at the same time an idea was yelling from the back of my head. I said it was okay with broken and choked words. “Oh no…please don’t cry please?” She asked me what was wrong or if I wanted to talk about it but I said nothing and continued to remain silent throughout her apologies.
After that one phone call I never heard from her again really despite the constant imagery that popped up in my head. That idea had taken hold of me for a little while. It was like a drug, the thought of her, or the things I did with Morpheus. They blackened my lungs with the air they breathed into me. What made it the absolute best was the down after the high. The feeling of hitting rock bottom only made the next hit so much greater.
The toxicity we chose to inhale over the oxygen already produced.
Already I felt as weak as my mother.
Staring into the back of the seat in front of me, I play out that idea. I play out that parasite. When friends had asked me why I was so troubled after that phone call I told them of this scene and it only felt as if I were telling them a dream. Regardless of a dream or not it corrupted me so in a way that I had yet to figure out.
What Eris was apologizing for and what I thought she was apologizing for could have been two different things. But what I later found out is they were both the same. I was a child and I haven’t remembered anything else as detailed as the last time I saw Eris. My grandmother was her caretaker. Eris was my best friend soon to be my worse enemy and I would care for her either way in a strange and seemingly self consuming way. I asked my grandma if I could sleep in Eris’s room that night. She would say it was okay if Eris said it was okay but with a sudden and noticeable look of already regretting the words she was saying. She had this foreshadowing of guilt in her presence as I remember. I walked down the hall from the entrance of my grandmother’s bedroom to the second door on the right and I walked in where the lights were already out. I told Eris that my grandma said it was okay if we sleep together tonight. She seemed content with letting me stay in her bed. I stumbled over a couple things and jumped in bed with her.
In retrospect, I’m glad the lights were out making this demon ostensibly faceless. I was on the edge of the twin sized bed and Eris was against the wall. I don’t know the details of the clothes I was wearing but I think that they might’ve been the clothes I had been wearing all that day. I feel like they had to be jeans with the pressure it put on my butt as Eris’s hand squeezed inside. Not knowing what to do I sat there thinking this is what people who love each other do, maybe. Or that in any kind of awkward situation I should pretend it doesn’t exist; or pretend that I don’t. My eyes were wide open and I didn’t know how to react when she grabbed my hand pushed it against her belly down her pants. I pretended to be asleep.
And it’s always been sex and war for me.
Looking at the back of the seat in front of me, I imagine the hair that my tiny hands felt. I get this feeling-that I used to always get-that makes me want to close my legs hard and tight but I still feel like they’re spread far apart. I brought my thighs together and I pushed them together even harder with my palms. I can feel every muscle in my body tense and try to close what will feel inevitably open. I move my eyes, slowly, from the back of the seat to the condom next to me and I flick it away. It hits the back of the seat in front of it then falls and sticks to the ground below the seat it was on. I place my foot on the ground and brush it under the chair then quickly brought my foot back up.
I was extremely frustrated that my head started to become burning hot. I cried almost for the water acting as relief to my hot face.
Do you think Eris was curious? Curious in the way that girls look at the women’s breasts in the locker room, maybe. Possibly Eris did what was done on to her, but for some reason I think that wasn’t it. You could argue that it was the media or the neglect brought on by society. However, I rejected these ideas. Most people don’t think about the victim except the victim. Everyone wants to know why Jack the Ripper killed a prostitute. But if the prostitute had the ability to reflect she’d think about what it has done to her. Maybe she’d think about why. But I think mostly she’d think about what.
We all have the capability to understand that things just happen and the people who provoke these things just exist.
I look out the window. I try to see my reflection out the window but I can barely see the ghost of me: the sun is too high. The vibrations of the train to the seat make me a bit uncomfortable. I stand up pressing my bare feet into the vertical lines of the floor. The train is moving so it’s hard to balance. I walk from my seat to turn around and walk to the back of the car. I walk to the doors and slide them open and push my way through the people lining up to get off to reach another set of sliding doors two feet in front of me. I’m pressed against the doors because there are too many people trying to get off to let me have room to slide the doors open. I can feel the guy next to me as I squeeze through the two doors, stare at my butt coming out from underneath my sweatshirt. I flick him off when the doors close behind me.
I stand for a moment right there in the doorway determining weather or not I wanted to go on the second level of seats. I looked up at the top row from where I was standing and no one was there. It made me more comfortable knowing no one would be above me if I wanted to sit on the lower level, so I walked forward and sat down in a seat paralleling a seat next to a very beautiful brunette girl. She was so pretty it was almost hypnotizing. She had glowing blue eyes against the sunlight coming through the window she was looking out of. You ever try to find flaws in those people you’re most jealous of? I couldn’t do it with her. If I tried, I know I would fail. Her every physical feature made me want to stare even longer because of how every curve and every hair seduced you to wanting more.
Her dark chocolate brown hair met half way with her back. She wasn’t pale but wasn’t tan either. She had this soft glow that maybe, and I sort of almost hoped, was only from the sun hitting her at the angle she positioned herself against the glass. Her structure seemed firm. Her figure was anything but provocative. She had a basic shape. Though, if she were any skinnier she’d be too skinny and if she had gained any weight she might’ve been looked at differently. I was thicker than her. She was wearing a dress that reached to her knees. It flowed and twirled around her torso til it met with the seat. The dress was a lighter green that drew me into her even more. She had a backpack next to her on the ground by her feet. I was starring too much that she noticed out the corner of her eye and turned her head towards me. I instantly dropped my eyes and turned away in embarressment hoping she wouldn't see.
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RavenJake reviewed Version 3 -
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I like where the heart of the story, it seems unbalanced and on the fringe of collapse. The story arc works well, though a bit much of it seems deeply internalized at times. Without losing the closeness to the character it would also be great to have an intimacy with the actions that are happening with attention to minute details. I like this story, but I don’t think it’s yet in the perfect form that it could be told- the form that you show glimpses of in a few great sections.
I’m extremely critical when I read so don’t take offense like I’m ripping your work up or anything. Here are the notes I took while reading, hope some of it is useful:
(The first few steps, seemed to be the easiest.)
They didn’t seem to be, they either were or they weren’t.
(I felt more tired and my strength only felt more limited as I became more determined)
This is passive in the second sentence. The character doesn’t have to feel “more” tired as it’s redundant because the degree of his exhaustion hasn’t been established. The progressive nature of the exhaustion should be tweaked. ”Afterward” as in after the first few steps? The time tag can be left out.
(steel, lonely train)
Steel can be dropped or stated in a different why by the manner in which the character boards the train (i.e. the sound of the shoes on the ground). However,
most readers will assume “steel” without it being stated.
(felt the train jerk and start to move)
The emphasis isn’t the train, it’s the character. What effect did the start have on the character? Bumped the glass? Grabbed a hold of something?
(rusted framed glass)
One too many adjectives for this particular sentence. Framed is inferred.
(even further than all of the architect of the houses waiting for a family to construct the home)
It’s “farther” as we’re speaking in terms of distance. This aspect of the sentence seems a bit confused.
(I was already being blinded by my own jaded cloud of thoughts)
I like the idea here, but blinded could be dropped, and cloud could be rearranged to be the verb in “clouded,” when discussing the vision. It’s a good sentiment there.
(I couldn’t see and only felt the hot sun beat down on my face like the rage I possessed all these years)
This is another sentence that feels 3/4 there. Perhaps if this started with, “I closed my eyes to the sun that beat down on my face like…”
(You’re imagining)
If this is vicarious while still addressing the main character then it should be adjusted, if not- march on.
(I get, I thought)
These are tense disagreements with the rest of your passage. The majority is past/active, so eliminate the stragglers.
(perfected and flawed)
“Perfected” will reduce the readers ability to relate.
(All these empty seats made me think why he chose to sit next to me.)
“All these empty seats, why the hell does he have to sit next to me?” Don’t distance the reader with needless insertion of character perspective. Show this action. Reading on, the same goes for that paragraph. Any action that happens, let it speak for itself without perspective. Her reaction will convey these internal conflicts and trepidations.
(his name was Morpheus)
I’m sorry, this name is a no-go. I believe the Matrix removed and possible use of that name for the next 32 and 3/4 years or so.
(I’ve never heard it before) oh yes she has.
(Eden never existed)
This is too easy and expected. The nature of the revelation is lost. Something like “Eden was so close,” would allude to the fleeting nature of the fantasy without explicitly making a generalization.
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Lillie_M reviewed Version 2 -
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steel, lonely train – I read it out loud and lonely, steel train sounded better.
my arm stand – my arms stand
This feels very much like a piece about society and all of us in it. Although I could be wrong. If I am, please hide this review!
‘The last ones to be aware of the payment due for the place they’re being taken to.’ – This line made me think of those oblivious to what is going on around them.
‘I’m still naked and it’s not any less comfortable than before.’ – Was this your way of saying that whether we open up our emotions or not we are all the same.
‘Perception is existence.’ – Loved this line. I always think we are a product of our enviroment. In terms that what we see and think is down to how we live.
‘I saw the angry fights turning into violent nights and it was always sex and war for me.’ – I know that feeling.
I really enjoyed this even though I’m not sure if I got the meaning correct. You write very well while using a good vocabulary. The story just seemed to draw me in. I loved the descriptions you used and it had great imagery. It is one of those pieces that I loved but I can’t put my finger on exactly why.
aqriusldy09 reviewed Version 1 -
Read 20% of the Item
The opening line is very intriguing and enigmatic. The first few paragraphs allow the reader to travel inside the protagonist’s mind. The description of the vulnerability that the protagonist feels when imagining herself as naked and shivering is very well-written. Including descriptions of her family’s hardships and the despair that she feels as a direct result provide background of the protagonist and the reasons for her current thoughts. The reader soon gets the feeling that the train is moving into the future (figuratively). However, she is uncertain of her future and feels that she’s lost, or even abandoned the concept of time. The first chapter is a great beginning. Continue with this character and her vulnerability. There a few spelling errors. Overall, this is quality writing.
AnimusLight reviewed Version 1 -
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The first sentence needs to be changed. The first thought that entered my head was, “How can a train be lonely?” There’s not much to personify the train just yet, so even if you want to do it, you’ll have to do it later. It should seem more like the narrator projecting humanisms onto the train rather than qualities the train possesses itself.
The first five sentences start with “I (verb).” Try to vary it a little bit more, because this gets boring fast.
“What made you do what you did today?” This seems a random interjection. I’d recommend not going to second-person in this context.
You jump between past and present tense, so be careful of which one you want to use.
The writing, overall, is quite good, especially for being under 18. Keep this up and you’ll go far.
Angela_N_Tharp reviewed Version 1 -
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This is good writing but it’s not flowing as best it could. There area a few areas where it’s easy to get tripped up. Also, try to explain whats happening more, that long list of things happening outside the window we all know about but the list is too long. Take some time with that part.
Who is the character talking too? the reader or are they talking about someone? this part is unclear and should be fixed slightly.
I’m to guess that when it starts saying ‘you will’ or ‘you did’ she is talking to herself. Try to do something to show that. Italicize it or something like that.
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