Outdated, Useless

An ice cold pinpricks jolts Arthur. He lifts his eyes up from the concrete and glances around. The clouds had apparently started spilling some rain, and he stands with his lips still parted as stray drops dot him.

Others were moving further under the roof, but he stays. The sensation isn’t pleasant, but it’s something. The occasional drop on his cheek and nose soften the redness and tension there.

He tries to move his arm and the sheet of paper it’s gripping further under his shabby coat, but he’d already been pressing it to himself so firmly. He slowly relaxes it. As hard as he tries, he can’t help but turn the sheet slightly. He reads the words for a thousandth time. The heat rides up the sides of his neck, perches on his skull. His other hand wrings the handle of his briefcase.

His head jerks up. A man’s walking past, on his phone, ignoring the shouting kid tugging on his hand.

“Dad!? Can we ask him?...Dad!” All the boy gets is a word mouthed silently. Then the man’s glide over to Arthur. There’s a something uncomfortable in them. Pity, maybe, though there’s too much shock for that alone.

Arthur watches them walk off, and see’s where the boy’s other arm is pointing. To an older man at the other end of the platform. Arthur takes a harsh breath. He sinks. It’s unmistakable to him.

The blue coat, the hat. The man’s a conductor, beaming to a young girl who’s excitedly bombarding him with questions. She giggles and waves her arm at his answers. He begins rocking back and forth along with his shallow inhales. He can’t stand it anymore. He whips his head away.

His heart skips, he jumps to the side, he lets out a pathetic moan. He yanks the briefcase up to his chest. The young woman who’d passed a little too close to him gives him a strange look, not as concerned as scared.

Arthur tries to collect himself, and notices all the other eyes glancing at him. While he drags his gaze around, their eyes dart away. He starts to shuffle way, trying to be as small as a his rotundness would let him be.

He hadn’t noticed the train pulling forward.

Blood starts swelling in his temples. His heart gets tamped down by disbelief. He jerks his eyes towards the massive clock on the wall. Back to the train. He takes more hesitant steps forward, squinting at the lettering on the side.

The doors open on empty passenger cars. It’s unfamiliar. It’s all unfamiliar, and he’s shaking.

It’s not his. He’s wondering how this train could even be here. More shambling steps forward. He peers into the compartments, at the gleaming interior - the new upholstery, bright lights. It’s not his train.

It’s some behemoth. Or more unholy. He’s watching it trample a grave.

His Bessie should have been pulling up to this platform. He’d brought her in here a thousand times over the last so many years. Now this thing was boasting to Arthur how it had replaced her. And replaced him.

Looking at this new model he felt pain. Shame? Guilt. His vision tunneled. He knew Bessie was a pile of scrap by now. That’s what he’d been told. Seeing what replaced her made that dull pain so much sharper.

Maybe part of it’s made from her melted corpse. Or would it refuse to touch parts made from something outdated and useless? Maybe it just liked watching while someone gutted her. His breathing was getting shallower. His were getting blurred.

“Excuse me!” The voice was shouting. Arthur turned around shakily. “Are you getting on? You’re blocking the door?” The man pushed past him. The others behind him stared and walked forward slowly.

Arthur dropped his eyes and started shuffling along the train. He could still see some of their heads turned in his direction. He raised his shoulders, turned more towards the train, and let it tower over him as he dragged himself out of the throng.

When he find space, he pauses to take in deep breaths. He moves his arms but can’t stop their shaking. The sheet of paper in his hand, damp and crumpled, is facing him directly. He can’t stop from reading the words again.

“Termination of Employment.” And near the bottom, “...services no longer needed...”

Blood boils in his neck. He’s taking clomping strides. He presses the briefcase into into his chest with both arms. The month-long haze in his mind cleared up just to make room for acidic hate.

He nearly walks past the control car doors, but stumbles to a stop. A young man steps out of the door, wearing the blue jacket, and blue hat.

He pauses at the door. “...Arthur!” His voice cracks, his hand goes up awkwardly.

Arthur pulls in a breath, manages a piecework smile. The young man’s face twitches, and slips between many expressions.

“Oh hi!….Will….” Arthur shuffles his feet, wringing the suitcase handle. “I wanted to ask….ummm.”

Uncomfortable shards of half-sentences are passed back and forth. The young man tenses, more and more. Every bit of Arthur’s state – his wrinkled clothes, matted hair, puffy eyes and cheeks – tears at him.

The pity erodes him until he relents. Fine, it can’t be that bad. Springfield’s only 2 hours away. They don’t have to spend much time together.

As Will taps the controls and gets the train moving, Arthur is hanging over the back of his seat. He looks across at all the controls. Much of it’s familiar to him. Everything that isn’t taunts him. All the switches and dials that tell him he couldn’t grasp how to run this engine, and they were right to throw him away. Will can feel the stale breath puffing faster onto his shoulder.

“It’s nice, right? These new models….” Will didn’t know where to go with the sentence. A stronger puff of breath on his shoulder. “Way easier than those antiques we had - you could’ve gotten used to these!”

He winced at that. He has no idea why he said it, or what to say now. He knew Arthur, but that was a different person a month ago, before the lay offs. He can feel Arthur push of his seat back, and eats the next few moments of painful silence.

Arthur had lowered himself to all fours. He tries to take deep breaths but they come up shallow. He grips at the floor to steady himself.

“Hey Arthur, you wanna….uh, you wanna sit up here?” He points to the open seat next to him.

The voice is shrill to him now, and Arthur squeezes his eyes shut. A soundless, heaving cry builds up as he fumbles with the briefcase.

“You wanna check this out up close?….Arthur?” Will turns his head to look for the man.

“Arthur…,” he snaps back around. “Arthur!”

He tries to stand but the barrel was already pointed chest.

Passengers in the first car hear the few pops. Some crane their necks to look. No one stirs more than that. Until the train’s wheels start to nosily rattle. It picks up to a trembling speed.

The clanking of wheels grows louder. Some turn to look at each other just as the train gets to a curve. Bodies leave seats as one flank of the cars smashes into the dirt. The sound of twisting metal and showers of sparks drowns them out.