mmmmcclviii

Railroad (Re)Route

the view was verdant,
the template of a
picturesque spring

at this end of the
desert; arboreal,
triumphant giant

redwoods would
occasionally align
with the slow-going

train. the trip thus
far had been sheer
perfection. it was

only the first day
of a nine-day trip.
arlo conked out

quite quickly in
his sleeper car
after dusk, just

before the loco
motive coasted
its way into the

arid and butted
portion of the
legendary trek,

chug-chugging
a white noise
that along with

the natural
gentle swoop
and sway of the

car of the train
nudged him into
such a deep sleep

in which, remark
ably, there would
emit from his

sleeping body
no discernible
esophageal

abrasions for
the entire night.
it was a rarity,

this rockabye baby
for arlo in that snug
sleeper. until around

six in the morning
local when he arose,
still with a rare ease

of breath. and then
came the twist of the
neck so as to catch a

glimpse of what he
assumed would be
more gorgeous. only.

the desolation. had
such a powerfully
draining impact on

his being that within
a minute he was
silently weeping.

he could not take
his eyes off the
sun-swept land

scape, and in
another minute
or so he was

sobbing violently.
rough asynchronous
gasps such that the

man had never
known. and the
feeling. the empty.

the entirety of his
focus remained
locked on the

vista as it slowly
moved from left
to right, and he

began to feel the
heat that he knew
would be nothing

compared with the
scorching that this 

hellish landscape must

surely be experiencing.
the depravity would
crescendo in such a

manner until mid-
afternoon. the heat
rose until he was

sweating so profusely.
and not one cart of
service would arrive

for the duration of
the devastating and
life-draining day in

which he could not
budge from the same
spot he had awoken,

staring out as far as
his eyes could make
out anything, which

seemed by the end
of the afternoon to
be lakes of molten

rock, mesas glowing
as if by nuclear rad
iation. at some point

was reached a limit.
by simple virtue of
what his eyes had

been taking in for
those several hours,
the feeling of loneliness

and impending death
or worse got to him.
and the heat. so that

by dusk of this horrendous
leg of the legendary train
trek through this most

austere and revered
country, the land he
loved in the country

in which he had always
lived, knocked him un
conscious. he was spent.

this had not been what
he had expected. he
awoke the next day

to warily glare out of 

that same window a river 

the train ran alongside

all morning in which
fish were flopping,
nature was replete,

beavers were damming,
frogs were leaping from
lily pad to overhung branch 

and back again, the occa

sional snake slithered for a 

while with its nose at 

the surface. breakfast

arrived and was
delicious. arlo,

however, was a
million light years
from the joy he

had experienced
on the first day of
the trip, when he

was but a rookie.
how would he
deal with this,

he kept wondering
all day, and the next
and the next. it was

all that mattered
to him. his life had
been irrevocably

twisted into the gloom
of a new purpose, an
overwhelming desire,

to do what? there
could surely be no…
remedy...for that into

which his very soul
had been immersed
for that one eternal day.