Ghost Train Haze

Ghost Train Haze

In a fog, it rolled up to the stop. Rugged and fair was the great metallic beast. It whistled to a halt and unleashed its stomach contents upon the pavement.

A man in a trim suit hopped down from the crowded train and caught his hat before it popped off his head and eloped with the wind. 

“Pee-yu!” he wailed and grabbed his nose. 

Narrowing his eyes he thought to himself, “Must be a skunk trekking around.”

The man let go of his nose and looked towards the mid-morning sky. Colossal buildings sprawled overhead. The man’s eyes gleaned until a scowl took his jubilance. 

“Pee-eyu!” he reeled again, “It’s that dang skunk smell. If I keep running into this putrid gas cloud I’m gonna stink up my interview for sure!” He furrowed his brow and scanned the area. 

“THERE!” cried the man, “By the trash can! That little rascal is gonna get an earful.” 

The man, fists clenched in mock masculinity, let the sounds of a faraway train letting off a group of good, unsuspecting townsfolk into this smelly haven fuel his fire for the nature brawl to be. He marched clear across the street, stopping traffic in his wake. With a pointed finger, he yelled, “You there!”

The skunk looked up from its dinner a la poubelle and blinked its brown doe eyes.

“You rascally sonofabitch! You have to knock it off with your smoke bombs! It’s really starting to seep into the tweed.” He voiced a groaning child by the end of his outburst.

The skunk turned its gaze back to its meal, unphased. Taking this as a personal slight, the man shook his head and laughed to himself, “You wily bastard. If that’s how you’re gonna play it fine! Peace be with you, my friend.”

The man picked up a nearby piece of reasonably sized copper piping. Baton in hand, the man crept up behind the creature mid-chew. With a Skreee! Of triumph, he lifted the pipe and screamed the annotation, “When I see you in hell!” He brought the pipe down upon the darling skunk.

Bones cracked beneath the striking blow. The skunk retaliated with all his fragile might. A fury of comically green air blasted out of the skunk and shot directly into the asking path of the man’s beloved tweed.

Tears slid down the man’s cheeks. He blamed it on the harsh odor but clutched at his jacket. 

“I’ll kill you,” he wept. 

The skunk noticed the change in atmosphere and bolted from the scene and dashed into an alley. The man scurried close behind. 

His eyes betrayed his viewpoint as they were too sensitive to the skunk’s gunfire. As he ran he tumbled over a group of trash cans. He fumbled around and itched his eyes desperate to be rid of the shameful scent. 

The skunk ran noticeably unharmed and cowered in the lowest shadows of the dumpster. 

For a minute the man searched but soon toppled onto the receptacles once more, sending their treasures to the dirt. He pushed himself off the ground and leaned against the brick wall facing the dumpster. Again he wiped his eyes of tears and pulled out his pocket watch. 

“Dear God!” he cried. “Six fifteen? Oh no.” The man wailed into the creeping gloaming. He slapped his head into his knees and hid beneath his arms. 

Sensing the feeble despair, the skunk peeked out from its hideout and looked in the direction of the sobbing fool. The little mammal detected no threat and disregarded its initial impulse to flee.   

Slowly, the skunk crawled from beneath the sticky box and padded to the man who had nearly soaked through his handkerchief. 

Feeling the presence of living energy, the man paused his lamenting and caught eyes with the beast before him. His eyes flashed red and his hands reached out to satiate his inner monster. The skunk’s eyes widened with fear as it turned to begin another chase. But before the thing took off, the man relaxed and sighed. 

“What’s the use. I’ve already missed the window and hit the siding with a splat.”

He wrapped his arms around his knees and rocked himself into a comfortable place. “It’s not your fault,” he said in a hushed tone. “You’re just doing what a skunk does. This is my fault for making a big stink about it.” He paused and solemnly laughed at his own semantics. With a dry wink, the man said to his audience of one, “No pun intended. He mused depressingly, “I think the smell woulda worm off with the walk. Nobody would have noticed. I’m sorry I tried to break your back with a pipe.”

Wearily, the skunk crept nearer to the man. As it inched forward, the man offered his hand as an olive branch. 

When the two made contact, he gave the skunk a brief nuzzle on its head. The man smiled. The skunk sweetened its eyes and licked the man’s hand before scuttling off into the dark and hazy eve. 

The man was left with nothing more than a budding star to dream at. Around him, there were a few vacant yet beautiful trees and some scrub bushes that only a city would regard as nature. He sat against the brick wall and admired where he was in life. He smelled of hot garbage and failure, of perseverance and petty self-sabotage. His wife would not be pleased. She never was. Maybe he could reschedule. He would have to make up a story to tell his potential boss. The truth was much too outlandish. The man got up and brushed the dirt off of his pants. The sun was setting. He was exhausted. He walked back to the trainyard and waited for a big metal beast to carry him home.

As he walked, he glanced at the stars peeking out from behind the clouds. His world reeked but he rather fell in love with the (one day) nostalgic aroma of bittersweet occurrences, and the sound of a lonely train rolling off to nowhere fast.