The Embankment
by: isaera (isaera@Writing.Com)
I got up and dressed. It wasn't easy - it never was any more. The curtains were closed and I left them like that. I made my way to the bathroom and made a passable attempt of tidying myself up to meet the outside world, not like it mattered. I skipped a shower as there didn't seem much point. I didn't bother with breakfast either - I ate like a sparrow during that time.
I knew what I was going to do that day. I had planned it for weeks. Carefully, meticulously, making sure everything had been taken care of before I left for good.
I got my shoes and coat on and opened the door. The watery sun was low in the sky and shone directly in my eyes - weak eyes from living in perpetual gloom. I didn't need to hurry - not today. I wouldn't be going to work, not that day, not ever, any more.
My day began normally enough. I washed and shaved, opened the window and smelt the frost in the air. I loved that smell. It reminded me of my childhood, and my walk to school, crunching the leaves happily as I went.
I could smell the coffee downstairs, and hear the rattle of the cereals and crockery as my family got their breakfast. I preferred toast these days, with a little organic honey. It helped ease my allergies when spring came.
I went in my study and checked that I had put all the papers in my briefcase for the day - that was a busy time of year for us - with Christmas and the sales.
The newspaper was at my place setting and I checked the share prices. I grunted to myself disappointedly, I would have to wait a little longer to sell.
I looked around the table at my family and felt content with my life.
I had worked the night shift that night and was on my way home. It is quite a walk from the factory where I'm an assembler to my home, and my route takes me past the gas towers and across the railway tracks.
It was chilly, but otherwise pleasant, my favourite weather for walking. The sky was cloudless, the hue of a watercolour, and the bare trees stretched towards it, like when you first get up and stretch your arms out to wake up the muscles.
I could hear the drone of the milk float in the distance as he made his rounds - he must be one of the few milkmen to still use an electric float - all the others seemed to use vans or flatbeds.
I was working mornings that week. I had signed on at the depot and was driving an EMU - the milk run, we called it. It was the daily shuttle service from Blackpool to Manchester. Not much to it, really. It got busy when the commuters were going to and returning from work, but outside those times it was usually quiet.
I checked the bulletins for works on the line and delays but there were none.
I was the officer on duty that night. It had been a quiet shift because it was early in the week. Later, at the weekend, there was always trouble. People drinking to much and getting out of hand. Well, you know.
Anyway, I was patrolling out on the other side of town. There were few vehicles about and nobody was in a hurry, not yet anyhow.
Yes, I remember that morning, well I'm not likely to forget it, am I? It was Harold's turn to walk Bobby. Hmm? Oh, he was our dog - a black Labrador, a lovely, friendly animal.
Well, he got up early - I slept in a bit because I was feeling a bit poorly - and they went out. It was a wonderful, crisp morning, and they went up on to the embankment. There's a large strip of wasteland there, bordered with a light woods. It's lovely down there before the hustle and bustle begins. Mind, I've not been down there, not since. Excuse me.
I shuffled along slowly, contemplating everything that had gone wrong; how I failed my degree, couldn't get a decent job, and how I found out about her affair, leading to our separation.
I made my way down the back alleys that once upon a time would have been draped with washing later in the day, in the days before tumble dryers. I didn't notice the broken-up cobbles or the weeds growing thickly by the yard walls, or the litter and trash strewn everywhere.
The road turned downwards and I followed it fatalistically, sensing the adrenaline building as I got closer.
I was in town by this time and not far from the bypass. The station was behind me and there were a few people there already - commuters mostly - students and business people. It was like a ghost town at that time of the morning.
My wife left before me and the kids were getting ready to go to. I jumped in my car to get to the station for the train. The roads were still quiet and I parked up with no trouble.
I nodded to the few I recognised - I saw them most mornings but didn't really know them as such. The train was expected on time.
I reached the crossing and crouched. This was a popular spot, because of the bend. The driver wouldn't have enough time to react and it would be over quickly. I never expected anyone else to be about at that time of the morning. I never intended
There's a long cutting on the approach, a whistle stop followed by a long bend before you reach the crossing. I hadn't noticed anything untoward and was proceeding as normal into the cutting.
Howard and Bobby had crossed the wasteland on the embankment and met the path at the crossing. He must have seen him there on the crossing and run out, knowing the train was nearly due. And Bobby followed, thinking it was a game, I imagine.
When I came out of the cutting, I could see someone crouching by the trackbed on my side. I released the Dead Man's handle, but there was no way the train could stop in time, not from there.
I could see the train approaching in the distance and picked up my case, and moved towards the platform edge. But then, I heard the squeal of brakes, shrill and terrifying in the stillness. I couldn't make out what was going on from where I was.
The driver must have seen me because he put the brakes on, but it would still be okay. I stepped onto the line and faced the train. I held my hands out from my sides, fingers spread, like this, and bowed my head.
I had reached the gas towers and could see the crossing down a side road. I could hear the train braking. There was somebody on the crossing facing the train with his arms wide as if appealing. From the other side, a man with a black dog ran on to the tracks.
When Howard saw him stood there like a statue, he didn't stop to think. He just ran out and shoved him.
I thought I was going to hit him, when this bloke darted out and tried to push him. He got him clear, but got tangled up with his dog before he could get out of the way himself.
I saw the train stop and the driver jump out and race back down the line. But then, he stopped suddenly, and put his hands on his head, fingers locked in his hair. He just stared. Then he fell to his knees and it looked like he was bowing, back and forth. He stayed like that for several seconds, with the passengers staring out of the windows, gaping, lost.
When I got to the scene, I saw that nothing was to be done. The train had struck the man and the dog as they were tangled up with each other and killed them outright, then dragged them both until the train came to a stand. The man at the side of the track was hunched and rocking, sobbing uncontrollably.
As for the driver, he was in a bad case of shock and we had to lead him away gently.
It wasn't meant to happen that way. I didn't mean
I'm sorry
Sorry
I knew what I was going to do that day. I had planned it for weeks. Carefully, meticulously, making sure everything had been taken care of before I left for good.
I got my shoes and coat on and opened the door. The watery sun was low in the sky and shone directly in my eyes - weak eyes from living in perpetual gloom. I didn't need to hurry - not today. I wouldn't be going to work, not that day, not ever, any more.
My day began normally enough. I washed and shaved, opened the window and smelt the frost in the air. I loved that smell. It reminded me of my childhood, and my walk to school, crunching the leaves happily as I went.
I could smell the coffee downstairs, and hear the rattle of the cereals and crockery as my family got their breakfast. I preferred toast these days, with a little organic honey. It helped ease my allergies when spring came.
I went in my study and checked that I had put all the papers in my briefcase for the day - that was a busy time of year for us - with Christmas and the sales.
The newspaper was at my place setting and I checked the share prices. I grunted to myself disappointedly, I would have to wait a little longer to sell.
I looked around the table at my family and felt content with my life.
I had worked the night shift that night and was on my way home. It is quite a walk from the factory where I'm an assembler to my home, and my route takes me past the gas towers and across the railway tracks.
It was chilly, but otherwise pleasant, my favourite weather for walking. The sky was cloudless, the hue of a watercolour, and the bare trees stretched towards it, like when you first get up and stretch your arms out to wake up the muscles.
I could hear the drone of the milk float in the distance as he made his rounds - he must be one of the few milkmen to still use an electric float - all the others seemed to use vans or flatbeds.
I was working mornings that week. I had signed on at the depot and was driving an EMU - the milk run, we called it. It was the daily shuttle service from Blackpool to Manchester. Not much to it, really. It got busy when the commuters were going to and returning from work, but outside those times it was usually quiet.
I checked the bulletins for works on the line and delays but there were none.
I was the officer on duty that night. It had been a quiet shift because it was early in the week. Later, at the weekend, there was always trouble. People drinking to much and getting out of hand. Well, you know.
Anyway, I was patrolling out on the other side of town. There were few vehicles about and nobody was in a hurry, not yet anyhow.
Yes, I remember that morning, well I'm not likely to forget it, am I? It was Harold's turn to walk Bobby. Hmm? Oh, he was our dog - a black Labrador, a lovely, friendly animal.
Well, he got up early - I slept in a bit because I was feeling a bit poorly - and they went out. It was a wonderful, crisp morning, and they went up on to the embankment. There's a large strip of wasteland there, bordered with a light woods. It's lovely down there before the hustle and bustle begins. Mind, I've not been down there, not since. Excuse me.
I shuffled along slowly, contemplating everything that had gone wrong; how I failed my degree, couldn't get a decent job, and how I found out about her affair, leading to our separation.
I made my way down the back alleys that once upon a time would have been draped with washing later in the day, in the days before tumble dryers. I didn't notice the broken-up cobbles or the weeds growing thickly by the yard walls, or the litter and trash strewn everywhere.
The road turned downwards and I followed it fatalistically, sensing the adrenaline building as I got closer.
I was in town by this time and not far from the bypass. The station was behind me and there were a few people there already - commuters mostly - students and business people. It was like a ghost town at that time of the morning.
My wife left before me and the kids were getting ready to go to. I jumped in my car to get to the station for the train. The roads were still quiet and I parked up with no trouble.
I nodded to the few I recognised - I saw them most mornings but didn't really know them as such. The train was expected on time.
I reached the crossing and crouched. This was a popular spot, because of the bend. The driver wouldn't have enough time to react and it would be over quickly. I never expected anyone else to be about at that time of the morning. I never intended
There's a long cutting on the approach, a whistle stop followed by a long bend before you reach the crossing. I hadn't noticed anything untoward and was proceeding as normal into the cutting.
Howard and Bobby had crossed the wasteland on the embankment and met the path at the crossing. He must have seen him there on the crossing and run out, knowing the train was nearly due. And Bobby followed, thinking it was a game, I imagine.
When I came out of the cutting, I could see someone crouching by the trackbed on my side. I released the Dead Man's handle, but there was no way the train could stop in time, not from there.
I could see the train approaching in the distance and picked up my case, and moved towards the platform edge. But then, I heard the squeal of brakes, shrill and terrifying in the stillness. I couldn't make out what was going on from where I was.
The driver must have seen me because he put the brakes on, but it would still be okay. I stepped onto the line and faced the train. I held my hands out from my sides, fingers spread, like this, and bowed my head.
I had reached the gas towers and could see the crossing down a side road. I could hear the train braking. There was somebody on the crossing facing the train with his arms wide as if appealing. From the other side, a man with a black dog ran on to the tracks.
When Howard saw him stood there like a statue, he didn't stop to think. He just ran out and shoved him.
I thought I was going to hit him, when this bloke darted out and tried to push him. He got him clear, but got tangled up with his dog before he could get out of the way himself.
I saw the train stop and the driver jump out and race back down the line. But then, he stopped suddenly, and put his hands on his head, fingers locked in his hair. He just stared. Then he fell to his knees and it looked like he was bowing, back and forth. He stayed like that for several seconds, with the passengers staring out of the windows, gaping, lost.
When I got to the scene, I saw that nothing was to be done. The train had struck the man and the dog as they were tangled up with each other and killed them outright, then dragged them both until the train came to a stand. The man at the side of the track was hunched and rocking, sobbing uncontrollably.
As for the driver, he was in a bad case of shock and we had to lead him away gently.
It wasn't meant to happen that way. I didn't mean
I'm sorry
Sorry
© Copyright 2007 isaera (UN: isaera at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
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