Rodney-Winston

• Short story
• Fiction

								
Nothing at home could happen on the railroad tracks. Railroad track, 757 to be exact. First departure: 7:34. Second: 10:27, Third: 1:58, Fourth: 4:14, and Fifth is at 10:29. Sure there were trains leaving to and from the station at night, but Mischa never paid attention to those.  He was asleep; well not always. Generally, he would be. If he could fall asleep, he would fall asleep. And if he could, he would indeed fall asleep before (or slightly after) 10:29. But sometimes he couldn’t or wouldn’t fall asleep, and that’s actually how our story began.  
Mischa had 14 journals, 12 of which have been written in. His mother would buy him one each year, since he was 10. But sometimes his ideas would come faster, so he would have to sneak away to buy one for 99 cents at an office supply store. She wouldn’t notice. In the last entry of the last journal on a soft and thin page, there was written the daytime departure times of the train on Railroad track, 757. There also, right before that, was a ripped out page. Small scraps of the old page lingered. This page was not ripped out with malice, but was a letter to be ripped out and sent to three people. Sure, there was only one letter, but the last sentence before the sign off was a line saying: “Please pass this to one of the three that you are not: Abess, Rodney-Winston, or Freyra as I’m giving this to you during the summer-school day.” For these were, yes, the names of Mischa’s friends, but also the names of the people he was to escape with. 
This town was regular. Very ordinary. But these children were not for this. It’s a story for another time, I mean a long one, so I shall not tell it. All you need to know is that whilst the town is ordinary, in the ordinary is a macabre brutality (as there often is hiding in the word ordinary). 
You might be wondering, although I gave you a small snippet, what follows in the letter. I guess I could tell you. But do not tell another soul, all right? This letter had details that could change everything in a small, ordinary town. It said, I quote:

“Dear warranted reader of the letter, I am writing to you to propose a moderate coup towards the status quo. On Thursday, July 3rd, we shall leave on the train tracks of Railroad track, 757, at 6:42. We must be sure the train is not, by some unthinkable tragedy, late because then we will have been spotted. Please bring to what you think may help and to what you hold dear. As all you want, but none is necessary. We will meet by the tracks near the old cherry tree. We will be departing to who knows where… but we'll find something better. If we can’t, then who will? Please pass this to one of the three that you are not: Abess, Rodney-Winston, or Freyra as I’m giving this to you during the summer-school day. Warmest regards, Mischa Hull.”

Now on July 3rd at Railroad, 757 by the old cherry tree, there waits Mischa at exactly 6:41. It’s important to be early, they say. They chose to leave on July 3rd as it is one of the two non-weekend days (along with the 4th) they get off from summer-school. It was a large, peach sunrise that day. The sky made the world seem like it was being baked in an oven. Even though it was the beginning of the month, July still called the end-of-summer feeling on anyone. The flowers smelled like they were on deaths door. 
No one else had arrived to the tracks yet. But at 30 seconds till 6:42, Freyra arrived. Freyra was a nervous, tall, and skinny boy. About a foot taller than Mischa and the rest of his friends. He was wearing a large pack filled to the brim with supplies. He threw it on the ground with a thunk.
“Hello, dear Mischa,” he said with the hint of a stutter.
“S-salutations,” said Mischa with a complete stutter. 
“I brought water, crackers, rope, medical supplies, a flashlight, binoculars, field guides, protractors, safety goggles, a slingshot, army knife, extra socks, a mixtape and tape player, and some firecrackers.”
Mischa was just slightly intimidated by his friend's long speech. But he could only notice that Freyra’s light red hair twitched as he spoke. So he was only half listening.
“Uh, that’s fantastic,” Mischa told him enthusiastically. “I brought water and a journal with the train's departure times listed in it!”
“Ha!” laughed Freyra. “I could’ve guessed.”
The next to arrive was Abess. She had her thin sweater sleeves rolled up showing her strong arms, like always. Her long muffin hair draped over her head like snow on a car. She was trudging a queer machine made of wood, rusty nails, and office chair wheels along with her. She stopped her apparatus about a yard from the two and then ran up to them.  
“Hello,” she said out of breath, brushing dirt from her skirt.
“Greetings,” the two accidentally said in unison. Then Freyra said alone,“What’s that you got?”
“You think we just walk?” she said, perplexed. “I had a better idea. I spent a day in my father’s shop (he almost beat me half to death for it) but I built it. It can be attached to the tracks and we grab a stick and move along with it. There is also a sail to move it but I wasn’t sure about the wind. Plus, it's not THAT heavy, so if there’s a moving train, we can easily move it and get out of the way.”
“Ha ha! Genius,” Mischa said with a smile. “Is that all you brought?”
“I’m afraid so. I did bring some water though. So just that and this.”
“Don’t worry! This one over here has us all covered.” They all laughed and joked a bit, but they stayed quiet generally. Best to avoid the close to opening train. “Now all we need,” Mischa said “…is Rodney-Winston.”
Almost as soon as he said this, they saw Rodney from another hill. He arrived at 6:46. He reached out his arm and waved it high into the air. The three all waved back, and they made sure of it. Rodney-Winston walked over and sat with his legs crossed and his back straight. 
“This is all very exciting you know,” he said while his eyes were darting across the sector, as if his eyes were trying to look at the black eyes and bruises surrounding themselves. 
“It truly is!” said Mischa. “But we must get to it if we want to beat the train. What did you bring?” He pulled out an old, beaten up copy of Watership Down by Richard Adams. On the side of it was a a tag meant to locate its place in the library. It looked to be fraying at the edges.
“I only brought this. It is simply my favorite. It always felt like my own…” he said rather shamefully. Mischa adorned a great smile. 
“Thank you,” he said. 
“We better get moving,” Freyra said as he stood up and stretched his arms farther up than his muscles could manage. “Abess, what time is it?”
“6:50. My watch is never wrong.” She pointed to it to assure her point.
“We must go! The first train departs in simply 84 minutes!” Mischa said. All the children stood up and Freyra and Abess made their way to the transport. But while they were lifting it to the tracks, Rodney-Winston tapped Mischa’s shoulder. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a peppermint. He then put it into Mischa’s hand. 

								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes