Celestial Hobbies, short story

 submitted to Vocal Media, August 2022 

Celestial Hobbies by Alex Johnson

It was thrust into consciousness and light.  Then there was pain.  It cried, but the feeling passed, and it was able to focus.  It found itself sitting on a bench in a room full of other, empty benches.  They formed two, identical columns down the length of the room, separated by an aisle that ran between doors at each end.  Every bench had recently been painted green, and was shining in the light coming through the windows along the walls.  Outside the windows, a colorful landscape slowly passed by.  It instinctively gripped its seat upon realizing the room was in motion.  A soft, electric hum vibrated through the bench with a sound to match coming through the open windows.  It peered out a window and saw a procession of train cars ahead, rolling along a curving track, and towing the room it was in.  It recognized that the room was, in fact, a passenger car on a train, and it swelled with excitement.  Climbing out of the bench, it walked up the aisle towards the front of the car.  But when it reached for the handle on the door, its hand collided against a flat wall.  It stepped back and discovered that the door was merely a painting on the wall.  It hurried back down the aisle, but found the same to be true for the rear door; no exit, just a painting of a door on a solid wall.  Its eyes grew wide as it turned to face its enclosure. 

And ever so slightly, the train began to speed up.

The diverse scenery passing outside the windows caught its attention.  The track led the train around a perfectly round, and very blue lake.  After the lake came a charming, little farm, with stalks of corn standing in rows next to a classic, red barn.  Past the farm, a small town appeared around the bend.  Its handful of houses, all designed the exact same way, lined a single street before a grand oak tree.  After the town, the track straightened while the train crossed over an antique bridge adorned in a fresh coat of brown paint.  On the other side of the bridge, the track resumed its gentle curve towards the base of a small mountain.  Up and around the mountain the train spiraled.  Reaching the summit, the track doubled back to allow the train to curl down the mountain, and leave on the opposite side from which it came.  The train then rolled through a city of tall buildings.  And after it passed the last high-rise, a perfectly round, and very blue lake emerged ahead.  Clutching the edges of the window frame, a queer feeling of deja-vu crept through its body.  Indeed, it was the same blue lake the train had previously passed!  It held its breath as the train curved around and away from the lake, and when a charming, little farm came into view, it exhaled with a scream.

The train continued to accelerate.

It thrashed around the room, cursing the track.  It considered jumping from a window, but found the track to be lying over a bed of jagged rocks, too wide to clear.  It threw itself onto a bench, folding its arms, and kicking the bench in front of it.  A chip of green paint fell to the floor.  It glared at the landscape looping over and over again.  Lake, farm, town, bridge, mountain, city.  Lake, farm, town, bridge, mountain, city.

“Oh wow, here comes the lake again,” it snorted.  “There’s not even any water in it!  It’s just a dent in the ground that’s been painted blue!”  It was hungry to criticize the next feature.

“You call that a farm?  That isn’t nearly enough corn to turn a profit!”  It waved its hands with disdain and leaned out the window as the tiny town appeared around the corner.

“Who would want to live in this boring town?”  The town passed without a sound.  The bridge was next in line to scorn.

“Why is there even a bridge here?  The ravine is as shallow as a gutter!”  It slumped into a bench while the train climbed up the mountain.

“Stupid mountain.  That’s not even real snow on top.”  It barely looked out the window any longer, now able to anticipate each feature as they passed.

“Here comes the big city again.  Oohh!”  Around and around it went as the train steadily accelerated.  Lake, farm, town, bridge, mountain, city.  Lake, farm, town, bridge… 

Something caught its eye.  Something it hadn’t noticed before.  Between the bridge and the mountain, an abandoned piece of track diverted from the main.   It shot straight at the mountain and abruptly terminated at the barricaded entrance of an old mining tunnel.  Jagged beams crossed the rocky mouth of the dark tunnel, warning any onlookers of a mysterious, and certain danger.  It studied the tunnel for just a moment before the main track led the train behind the mountain.  It grumbled, and figured it could study the tunnel more on the next loop.

For the fifteenth time, the train wrapped around the mountain, and the constant spiraling had started to induce a queasy feeling.  With sullen eyes, it watched the ground drop further and further away, and a violent and crooked idea took shape.  Nearing the top of the mountain, it raised a foot up to a windowsill and stood inside the frame.  Suddenly, the ground seemed much further away and it feared that it was making a terrible mistake.  But at that very moment, the train jostled on the track, causing its feet to slip.  It fell out the window and would’ve sailed to its death if it had not caught hold of the windowsill at the last moment. It dangled against the side of the train, blood seeping from under its palms as it clung to the windowsill.  The air was heavy, and far below, the ground lay expectant.  A defiance erupted from deep within, and it cried out for mercy.  The train reached the roundabout at the top of the mountain, and began its descent.  It now found itself hanging on the inside of the track between the train and the mountain.  Kicking off the face of the cliff, it hurled its body up and over the windowsill, collapsing onto the floor of the train.

It lay in a ball, clutching its knees, and the train went faster still.  The motor’s electric hum gained a distant but distinct whine, and for the first time, it noticed how the train was picking up speed.  The revelation summoned an unavoidable conclusion in its consciousness.

It gazed through the columns of green legs beneath the benches.  Every single one the same length, the same color, the same straight angle.  Except for one!  Though its lean was slight, one green leg stuck out in dramatic fashion amongst all the others standing straight.  It pulled itself up and walked over to the unruly bench.  Upon closer inspection, it saw that one of the legs was resting just above the button hole meant to secure the leg to the floor.  Pressing down on the back of the bench, the leg snapped into place with an immensely gratifying click.  It smiled over the rows of benches, now perfectly aligned.  It ran its hand over the smooth benches, admiring their craftsmanship.  The entire room, in fact, now took on a quality of fascinating achievement.  In front of a window frame, it marveled how the structure could be made without any trace of a single screw.  It began to view the passing landscape with the same fascination.  The train passed through the city, and the buildings pulsed with life, jazz music bopping through the streets.

“Sounds like a fun party!” it called.

As the train passed the lake, it no longer saw a painted dent, but instead, a fisherman sitting in a small boat on the shimmering surface of the water. 

“What are the fish biting on today?” it quietly cast. 

When the train passed the farm, it considered the most delicious way to enjoy an ear of summer corn.

“I’ll have mine grilled, please,” it declared, adding, “With extra butter.” 

It named the town ‘Home’, claiming the gray house on the left for its own. 

It playfully feigned vertigo as it crossed the bridge. 

And occasionally, it even looked upon the ominous miner’s tunnel, pondering what lay beyond the barricade and who, if anyone, had ever ventured past it. 

By now, the train had gone around the track nearly forty times, accelerating at a pace much faster than before.  The sound of the motor had grown from a whine to a wail, and the wind pushing through the windows sent a dreadful chill to its bones.  Unsure exactly why, it searched the train car for something that it couldn’t name. Nothing answered the question that it couldn’t ask, so it scoured the passing landscape.  Still nothing filled this new, unknown void.  It sighed, and looked up at the strands of tiny, twinkling lights that hung from the domed ceiling high above.  There were far too many to count, and it wondered why it was stuck on the track so far below.

The motor’s wail threatened to interrupt its thoughts, and it quickly resolved to prove its existence before the rising sound and speed of the train made everything impossible.

Observing the chip of green paint that had fallen to the floor, it crouched down and remembered how the benches snapped into the floor.  It tried lifting a bench, but the bench refused to budge.  The train dashed around the track.  It mustered all its strength and heaved under the bench.  One leg burst from its port!  The train’s motor screamed.  It roared in reply, heaving again, and popped a second leg out of the floor.  The wind whipped through the room.  Its hands burned and its heart pounded.  With all its energy, it freed both the remaining legs from their holsters in a final heave.  It hoisted the bench up and hurled the green mass out the window.  Tired and broken, it collapsed on the floor beneath the window, a small smile on its lips.

The train whipped around the track.  Over the mountain and through the city.  Around the lake, past the farm and town, over the bridge.  Faster and faster, the scenery became a colorful blur.  But it no longer paid attention.  Having been around the track nearly a hundred times, it sat on the floor and softly recounted its experience.

“That farm used to be nothing more than a garden.  But it grew. I watched it.  And what a fine crop it is now.” 

“You know that bridge almost wasn’t made.  It’s now an antique.”

“You’ve got to be careful up there on the mountain.  It’s very steep, and the cold makes everything slippery.”

It struggled to lift itself onto a bench, its body frail and trembling.  And it sat with its hands folded on its lap, the train’s momentum pressing it against the back of the bench.  No longer able to move or concentrate on much, its eyes began to close while it recalled the time it saw the fisherman pull a magnificent, silver fish from the lake…

Its body lurched forward, as the train rapidly decelerated.  Its eyelids slowly raised and it struggled to orient itself.  No longer was there was any wind or noise.  Outside the window, the same landscape passed slowly by, but now with a depth of breathtaking clarity.  It nearly cried at the sight of the thriving crop of corn.  It could feel a warm love emanating from each of the houses in the town.  It marveled at the blessed ingenuity harnessed to build the bridge.  It began to anticipate a slow, scenic climb up the mountain, but the train never made the turn.  It had switched to the divergent track, and now rolled directly towards the old mining tunnel at the base of the mountain.  Its eyebrows raised.  No boards blocked the open, black mouth of the tunnel any longer.  In the moment before the train passed through the gateway, it relaxed in its bench.  One by one, the train cars left the scene, disappearing into absolute darkness.

 

And far above the tunnel at the top of the mountain sat a shiny, green bench, waiting to be noticed.