train of consequences ·
15 September 04

We stood in a car park, it was raining down heavily as my cousin, friends and I walked towards the information screen. Several trains were running: Oxford, Cambridge, Success and finally Mostly Failure. I don’t know why they were labelled like that, but each train looked different too.

The difference between Oxford and Cambridge was negligible, the difference in a slight tone of colour, the front end looked more polished on the Oxford train, but other than that, there was so little to distinguish between the two, as they were both super-high powered trains, looking like huge mechanical and futuristic snakes. All the carriages were upper class, and you had to be a of a certain ilk to sit in their thrown like seats.

Success was divided into several sections. Bronze class, where people who were remotely successful managed to slip their foot in the door; Silver class where those who had potential never quite made it; Gold class where those who they were successful remained stagnant never looking for further success; and finally Platinum class, where the seat held the few people owned 90% of the global wealth sat. It was the smallest carriage of the lot, and the further you went in class, the more grand the interior and luxuries. It looked like a hierarchical example of society. but in the form of train carriages.

Mostly Failure was the least interesting of the lot. It looked like an old 19th century steam train, sitting on an electrical track. It was slightly confusing. There were only two types of carriages: the front where the train would be filled with coal to pump the train’s speed; and the rest of the carriages were standard old fare examples. The windows removed; the roof looking tired and torn; the wheels not really looking competent enough for travel, and, as I got on, I noticed there were no seats, and no one on board, even thought there were up to a million carriages behind. I suppose it meant failure results in isolation.

Everyone got on their trains, a friend and cousin got on to the Cambridge and Oxford trains respectively. Everyone else got on success, dividing themselves on to different carriages. I noticed that as every individual got on to their single, unique train and carriage, that conversation stopped, looks in their direction were no longer held and friendships broke. I watched this as I sat on the stairs leading to the entrance to a carriage. It startled me, that this is how it was, and this is how it has always been. Sullen with this thought, I returned to sitting on the floor, waiting for my train to move.

I balanced myself on my knees against the hard wooden floor of the train and looked through the space where the window was, the wind blew hard against my face, forcing me to close my eyes for second; placing my chin upon my hands which overlapped one another for comfort. Success left first, then the Cambridge and Oxford trains raced each other to the exit to life, and finally it was my turn. I sat down and waited for the train to move. Nothing happened.

Sticking my head through the window gap, I saw several men, around fifty or so, or began to push the train from the back using some sort of vehicle and man power. The judder of the push threw me back, and I hit my head on the window frame, which happened to have a piece of glass stuck within, piercing the back of my head like a needle in the arm. I gritted my teeth as I felt the pain strike down my spine with a great electrical shock. As I sat down, I could feel the trickling of blood meandering down my back, slowly being absorbed by the shirt on my back.

I noticed that as every individual got on to their single, unique train and carriage, that conversation stopped, looks in their direction were no longer held and friendships broke. I watched this as I sat on the stairs leading to the entrance to a carriage.

The trains that left before mine did, had disappeared all together. I saw a marble roll down the train from one end to the other, never faltering on the gaps, the holes, always managing to jump them. I peeked through the window gap again, not bothering to be concerned about the bits of glass still remaining. The men had stopped pushing, and the inertia had been enough for the train to move itself. It travelled at a steady pace, always picking up speed. Then I noticed why, the train was heading downwards, on to a separate track away from the others, the path divided, and I could no longer see the world outside. Travelling at such speed I decided to sit down, and as the momentum grew everything became darker and darker.

In the darkness, I was with friend’s playing on the computer. I asked my friend what it was, he said nothing and just smiled. The screen opened and revealed Sensible Software. I was shocked, Sensi had died a while ago, but here it was, Sensi Soccer in glorious full on 3D. I prodded my friend to show that it was still alive, unlike Kick Off which died without a trace. It was amazing to look at, and as I closed my eyes for a moment, and opened them again, I was looking at my friends. I looked up and saw Einstein’s head. It was enormous, either I had shrunk or he had grown, either way this wasn’t fair. I had become stuck in some sort of computer game. I was a sort of slug-life fly, powering up and shooting sparkly things at Einstein. Einstein got his hands involved too. But I was being controlled, by my friends, and being pushed around the screen at great pace.

Everytime I hit Einstein, his energy went down, a flashing big logo came on to the screen saying Hubble I think. I wasn’t sure. The screen would shift to when Einstein was a footballer. He only played with 7 players, because he said this was all he needed to play the game. Everyone else played with 11, and they always lost. He was known as the a mathematical football genius, always gaining the ball and never losing due to his ability to calculate all possible movement on the pitch. Newton would be in goal, because he just loved things hitting him on the head, and never cared that the ball never came his way. Freud and Jung sat in the crowd cheering on Einstein, and Stephen Hawkings would control the screen display with his computer writing expletives to rile the opposition.

Einstein would have his players surround him like a shield while he dribbled the ball with pinpoint accuracy. The opposition hated this, as they couldn’t get the ball without fouling someone, which meant free kicks and penalties all the way. The one time an opposition did get the ball, Einstein sat in the middle of the pitch and drew a diagram, scratching his head, he smiled and got up. He ran at the player with full speed, lunged his foot out, forcing the ball away from the player and pushing the ball into the goal. No one could get close enough to him crop him for life, as the other players circled around him like an impregnable shield.

I couldn’t tell whether I had woken up or not. I felt sick, I inhaled dust everytime I breathed, and sneezed dust everytime I inhaled. My shirt was completely soaked, but I could see nothing. Down here there was no light. Was I still sleeping, or had I died? Perhaps I really was a awake and there was no one here. I dared not shout, because I wondered if shouting would awaken the demons I had feared, that in the darkness, they came to life in my fear. I was awake, I knew this because I touched my eyes, and they felt real, as real as they could be.

I put my hand out and moved them around aimlessly. Until I hit something. I traced my hand across the object, it felt like…a face of some sort. But smooth, like a statue of some kind. It’s eyes were closed. I moved my hands over the face, it seemed to be some sort of malevolent creature. As I moved my hand back up to it’s head, I felt the closed eyes open. I held my nerve, taking my hands back in, and closed my eyes. It didn’t matter now.