literature

Aiden - Chapter 1

Deviation Actions

CrimsonGuard87's avatar
Published:
6K Views

Literature Text

    White.

    Not far beyond the train I'm riding in, the world is a blank wall of pure white. Even though I'm not outside in the middle of that mess, I burrow down in my jacket. I know that sooner or later, I would be, and that my jacket would be of little use when it came to keeping me warm. Sighing, I lean against the wall of the car I'm sitting in, the gentle rocking of my ride silently tempting me back to sleep. I can feel it working but I resist. Despite the distinct lack of sleep, I need to stay awake. Groaning, I slowly stand, my right leg protesting like it always does in this kind of weather. Taking a moment to stretch, I limp over to the side of the car. Jamming my left foot against the side of the doorway, I push on the boxcar's door, which I had nearly shut only hours earlier. Almost immediately I'm greeted with a slap of freezing cold wind to the face that almost makes me want to slam the door shut entirely. Instead, I put my weight against the door, pushing it all the way open.

    Outside I can see farm fields, or at least what I assume are farm fields, since everything is covered in several feet of powder. Frowning, I swear under my breath as I turn my back on the so-called winter wonderland. Returning to the pair of bags that have been acting as my pillows for the last few days, I lower myself back down, wiping a few stray kernels of some kind of grain away. Shuddering from the sudden temperature drop, I reach into my jacket. Pulling my hand back out, I look at the nearly empty plastic bottle. "Fan-fucking-tastic" I mutter to no one in particular as I empty its contents in two gulps. I can feel the cold water deal with my thirst, but as it settles in my stomach, it only reminds me that I haven't eaten anything since Montana, which was… I pause to think. Three days ago? Four? It doesn't matter I tell myself. Thinking about how long it’s been since I last ate would only remind me of how hungry I am, and that would only distract me from the sheer idiocy of what I was doing.

    Stuffing the empty bottle inside my backpack, I pull out a small map of the state I had managed to get my hands on. Laying it out on the floor, I first find Minneapolis, which isn't that hard since it’s probably the biggest city in the state. As I trace my route, I try not to think about the two days I had spent in that city, wandering around while trying to find the right set of tracks. As I look at the map, my finger slowly moves west before taking a southerly turn. It takes me a minute, but I find the name of the town that my ride had passed through a little while back. On a whim, I pull back the sleeve of my coat. I don't know what I was expecting, but the watch face that greets me is as blank and dead as it was yesterday.

    Far behind me, the sound of a train horn cuts through the relative silence. Looking back at the map, it’s not hard to find my stop. I had the town's name circled several times in pen. Stuffing the map back in the beaten sack that one could call a backpack if one was being generous, I toss it onto my back before grabbing the small duffle bag that had been my main pillow. Standing in the doorway, I wince as the cold wind burns my face. In the distance, the lead locomotive blasts its horn again. I wince as the brakes of my car screech against the wheels. I don't know how fast I'm going, but I doubt that it’s more than twenty miles an hour.

    Probably.

    Maybe.

    I hope.

    In the distance, I can see a lone water tower, the words Ash Grove seeming to hover in the air. Taking a deep breath, any lingering sense of fatigue vanishes as the inside of my nose seems to instantly freeze. Swallowing, I can feel my heart pounding. Even by my standards, what I'm about to do is beyond stupid, and that's saying something when you consider that I've spent nearly a week train hopping halfway across the country on the chance that the name and address I have in my pocket was still good. Taking a final moment to steel myself, I reach into my pockets, feeling my wallet and the scrap piece of paper that started this insane journey. In the other pocket, I feel the knife that I've kept on me since I got it back in Boston a few years earlier. On my right, the hunting knife I had traded for just before leaving Seattle is firmly strapped to my belt. In the distance, the train’s horn blasts again. This time though, it’s accompanied by a sound I’ve become all too familiar with lately. The crashing sound of the slack between the cars disappearing quickly reaches my car. Almost immediately, I feel my ride start to speed up. I’m out of time. Taking a final breath, I toss my duffle bag out the door, watching it land thirty feet from the tracks. "God damn it Aiden, why are you such a fucking idiot" I mutter to myself right before I jump off the train as well.

     

    As odd as it sounds, the moment my feet left the box car, I could hear nothing. Not the wind, not my heart beat, not even the several thousand tons of screeching metal just a few feet behind me. Hanging in mid-air for that brief moment; an image of my body getting ripped apart by the train flashes across my mind. If I made one false move, I would be instantly cut in half by the train, and no one would know anything had happened until the next train came along, or the crows found me. Fortunately, I had thrown myself off with more than enough force to keep that from happening. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as I flew through the air. Despite the wind, I could see individual snowflakes hanging in the air. I could feel a cold breeze sliding up the back of my shirt as it came untucked from my pants. Unfortunately, this also let me see that I had severely misjudged things. From the car, it had looked like the tracks were only a foot or two higher than the surrounding farm fields.

    In reality, it was more like five or six feet.

    My right leg took the initial impact. I felt a flash of pain shoot up my leg as it hit the ground, only to watch in a detached mix of fascination and horror as my foot suddenly bent at a very unnatural angle, before snapping off entirely. Before my mind could register what had happened, my left foot slammed into the embankment and any thoughts I might have had about the situation vanished as time returned to normal and I went tumbling across the ground.

    I'm not the betting kind of kid - mainly because I usually don't have any money, and anytime I do have any cash, it’s immediately spent - but I would have bet serious money that I got knocked out for a moment or two as I rolled to a stop. Opening my eyes, I stare at the slate grey clouds overhead as the train's last few cars go screeching by. A deep breath nearly makes me cry out as I slowly roll onto my side and curl up. I don't know how long I lay there, my mind trying to focus on anything else, but the pain in my chest makes that nearly impossible. My vision darkens as I cough, flecks of blood staining the fresh snow.

    Eventually, it could have been ten minutes or two hours for all I know, the pain slowly fades just enough so that I can move. As carefully as I can, I slowly sit up, my head spinning from the change in position. Groaning as a fresh wave of pain washes over me, I slowly open my eyes, which quickly settle on my right pant leg, which is distinctly missing a shoe and a foot to fill said shoe. Turning my head as much as my aching neck will allow, I spot the missing limb a couple minutes later, its duct tape form helping it to stand out against the blowing snow. Slowly, I drag myself the several dozen feet that separate me and my foot. As I pick it up, I feel my stomach drop at the sight of a twisted chunk of metal sticking out of it. Of all the thing I needed, fixing my leg alongside some train tracks in the middle of a fucking blizzard was not one of them. Grabbing the bent pipe coming out of the shoe, I slowly drag myself along the tracks. As I do, I find myself slowly calming down as the side of me that’s used to this kind of shit takes over. In the end, I probably shouldn't have been so surprised. Aluminum isn't exactly the strongest metal out there, after all, and asking it to take the impact of a fourteen year-old jumping ten feet off a moving freight train would have probably been too much to ask.

    Groaning as I tend to do in these kinds of bullshit situations, the ghost of a smile briefly passes across my face as I spot an olive green duffle bag in the distance. Reaching it a couple minutes and several curses later, I stop to take a break. Grabbing a handful of snow, I lift up my jacket and shirt, pressing the handful of cold against my aching ribs. An involuntary hiss escapes my lips as I do, but I don't stop until the snow is nothing more than a wet spot on my shirt. Grabbing another handful, I stuff it in my mouth, the icy sensation of it running down my throat a welcome feeling, even though I know that this is the last thing I want to do.

    Feeling slightly better, I slowly take off my backpack, setting it next to me. Pulling on my pant leg, I get my first look at the condition of my leg. Despite my initial reservations, it's not as bad as it could have been. The metal pipe that had connected the socket to my foot had snapped near the middle. While this was frustratingly inconvenient, it wasn't the worst thing that could have happened. At least where it connected to my socket was still intact. Without taking my eyes off the damage, I reach for my backpack, my hand going straight for the side pocket where I keep a small screwdriver, or where I used to keep it. My head snaps to the side, my attention now squarely focused on the torn pocket. Well fuck me stupid. Muttering more than a few choice words in two languages, I reach into my pocket and pull out the three inch folding knife I habitually kept there. If I wanted to, I could go on for quite a while about how damned useful a knife could be. Cutting, slicing, scrapping, skinning and, in the less friendly areas, an equalizer that could be the difference between getting a beating or getting away - assuming no one pulls a gun, of course. Now I can add makeshift screwdriver to the list of uses.

    Unzipping the main compartment of my backpack, I snake my hand through a bunch of empty water bottles and between a couple pairs of socks until I find what I'm looking for at the bottom. Pulling it out, I take a moment to look over the short piece of steel pipe. Setting it on my duffle bag, I unlace the lone shoe and pull out that crudely carved wooden foot that's filling it. Normally it would only take me a couple seconds to take out the lone screw that keeps it attached to my leg, but that would be if I was someplace warm. As it is, I consider myself lucky that I only get a couple minor cuts as my shaking hands work on the screw. I toss the twisted piece of aluminum into my waiting backpack. It might be useless to me now, but I might be able to sell it for scrap. As the wind blows, it takes me twice as long to get the screw through the pre-drilled hole in the steel pipe and get the foot attached to it. Shivering, I turn my attention to the part where it attaches to my socket. Fortunately it goes about as quickly as the foot.

    Grabbing my stuff, I take a moment to fill a water bottle with as much snow as I can pack into it, before shoving it under my shirt and against my battered ribs. Slowly rising, I gently test my field repairs. I walk around my bags, quickly finding that my leg is now much heavier that what I'm used to but that everything seems to be holding for the moment. "I swear, if you break, I will make you fucking regret it" I threaten the leg for no real reason. Slinging the duffle bag over my shoulder so that it won't mess with my ribs, the knife finds itself back in its pocket as I gingerly put my backpack back on, the pain less than I was expecting, thanks to the bottle under my shirt. Reaching behind my head, I pull up my hood while wishing – not for the first time – that it still had its string. Holding up a hand to block the wind as it stings my face, I stare across the empty field before me. Once again, life has seen fit to fuck with me. What the hell I think to myself as I start to walk, it’s not like this bullshit hasn’t happened before. Besides, I have no food and two dollars to my name; how could this get any worse?

Comments2
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
Quadlad's avatar
A well-written and nicely paced introduction. I'm interested to find out what the boy is looking for in the town. The story oozes with detail which helps bring the characters world to life. I hope you write more!