And Caleb Burst Into Flames...
So I started playing with an idea last night when I really should have been writing a paper...
I'm not sure where I'm going with it exactly, but I had fun playing with description and a writing style that I find myself slipping into more and more often.
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Caleb was not special. He worked long hours like most young men his age, trying to save up as much as possible and begin the climb to that illusive ‘much more’ that young men his age still believed existed. He swept and mopped at the local movie theater on the weekends, and shelved at the grocery during the week. Sometimes, he watched his neighbor’s cat.
But Caleb was not special.
So when he was fired from his two jobs and his neighbor’s cat died of a horrible accident involving a margarita blender, Caleb did what most young men his age did: he packed his bags, smiled at his landlady as he paid up for the month, and bought a train ticket.
The train was scheduled to leave at 9:07 and it howled into the station at 9:03, breaks squealing and huffing as the massive steel pulled itself to a halt. The train exhaled in a puff of grease smelling smoke and Caleb noticed what most young age would notice. There were pretty girls in pretty dresses with pretty hair pressed against the windows smiling out. There were men with shiny black shoes and pressed pants and white-white handkerchiefs poking out of their chests. There were mothers with snotty-nosed children clutching at their skirts, constant lines pulling at their mouths. Whole slews of children old enough to run about on their own but not old enough to be let out of sight tumbled off in a jumble of shoes, legs, and dirty hair with mothers, fathers, and exasperated siblings calling and running after them.
Caleb smiled, waved shyly at a pretty girl in a pretty dress, nodded at a man with shiny shoes, and tossed a penny at a tumbling child. Caleb then gave his ticket to the conductor and boarded the train with every intention of finding his seat and sitting down.
But that is not at all what happened. Instead, Caleb placed one leather clad shoe on the first step of the iron horse and exploded into light and flames and burned for four whole minutes while people screamed and wailed and ran for hoses before the blaze began to dwindle. By the time the men with shiny shoes returned lugging water buckets, there was nothing left of Caleb but a single singed shoelace. The pretty girls in pretty dresses cried into the shiny shod men’s white-white handkerchiefs and the mothers pressed their children’s faces into their skirts and held them there.
When the police came, there was no resolution. The shoelace was scooped up and the passengers were pushed away and the train left at 9:09. Caleb was always remembered as, “that nice young man who burst into flames at the train station,” and was the talk of the town for several months, invariably accompanied with a shameful shake of the head and a cluck of the mouth. “So sad,” they said, over a biscuit and tea, white-white handkerchiefs tucked at their laps, “that young man. Just burning away like that. Awful way to go, you know.” After the first few months his end was whispered on playgrounds, shouted by teenagers, and hushed by the old: he became legendary.
Caleb was not special, but the way in which he died was very, very special.
In fact, the most special thing about the way in which Caleb died, was the fact that he didn’t.
After bursting into flames and feeling his body begin to crisp, screaming out as loud as he could, unable to move a centimeter, Caleb vanished and left only his left shoelace behind.
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*Shrugs*
I'm not sure what I think at this point, but it was kind of fun to write, if nothing else. It'd be loverly to get some outside opinions, though... *hinthint*
<3
I'm not sure where I'm going with it exactly, but I had fun playing with description and a writing style that I find myself slipping into more and more often.
-----------------------
Caleb was not special. He worked long hours like most young men his age, trying to save up as much as possible and begin the climb to that illusive ‘much more’ that young men his age still believed existed. He swept and mopped at the local movie theater on the weekends, and shelved at the grocery during the week. Sometimes, he watched his neighbor’s cat.
But Caleb was not special.
So when he was fired from his two jobs and his neighbor’s cat died of a horrible accident involving a margarita blender, Caleb did what most young men his age did: he packed his bags, smiled at his landlady as he paid up for the month, and bought a train ticket.
The train was scheduled to leave at 9:07 and it howled into the station at 9:03, breaks squealing and huffing as the massive steel pulled itself to a halt. The train exhaled in a puff of grease smelling smoke and Caleb noticed what most young age would notice. There were pretty girls in pretty dresses with pretty hair pressed against the windows smiling out. There were men with shiny black shoes and pressed pants and white-white handkerchiefs poking out of their chests. There were mothers with snotty-nosed children clutching at their skirts, constant lines pulling at their mouths. Whole slews of children old enough to run about on their own but not old enough to be let out of sight tumbled off in a jumble of shoes, legs, and dirty hair with mothers, fathers, and exasperated siblings calling and running after them.
Caleb smiled, waved shyly at a pretty girl in a pretty dress, nodded at a man with shiny shoes, and tossed a penny at a tumbling child. Caleb then gave his ticket to the conductor and boarded the train with every intention of finding his seat and sitting down.
But that is not at all what happened. Instead, Caleb placed one leather clad shoe on the first step of the iron horse and exploded into light and flames and burned for four whole minutes while people screamed and wailed and ran for hoses before the blaze began to dwindle. By the time the men with shiny shoes returned lugging water buckets, there was nothing left of Caleb but a single singed shoelace. The pretty girls in pretty dresses cried into the shiny shod men’s white-white handkerchiefs and the mothers pressed their children’s faces into their skirts and held them there.
When the police came, there was no resolution. The shoelace was scooped up and the passengers were pushed away and the train left at 9:09. Caleb was always remembered as, “that nice young man who burst into flames at the train station,” and was the talk of the town for several months, invariably accompanied with a shameful shake of the head and a cluck of the mouth. “So sad,” they said, over a biscuit and tea, white-white handkerchiefs tucked at their laps, “that young man. Just burning away like that. Awful way to go, you know.” After the first few months his end was whispered on playgrounds, shouted by teenagers, and hushed by the old: he became legendary.
Caleb was not special, but the way in which he died was very, very special.
In fact, the most special thing about the way in which Caleb died, was the fact that he didn’t.
After bursting into flames and feeling his body begin to crisp, screaming out as loud as he could, unable to move a centimeter, Caleb vanished and left only his left shoelace behind.
-----------------------
*Shrugs*
I'm not sure what I think at this point, but it was kind of fun to write, if nothing else. It'd be loverly to get some outside opinions, though... *hinthint*
<3