Work Text:
The night has settled into grey, with the sky bleeding a bit of purple where the sun slowly sinks below the horizon. A few stars peak through the clouds, ones so thick and ashy they could be mistaken for smoke, like God took a puff from an everlasting cigar.
The railway is quiet and unused, cold and empty. Daunting trees with black leaves hang limply in a crooked way, stretching down to touch the muddy earth.
The old rails that carried magic in the past are now rusted and sinking. Weeds create a forest of sin in any place dirt can reach. An old wooden pole stands strong, despite the damage of the years leaving it chipped. Poised in a dainty curve is a single streetlight cover, empty of a bulb.
Shattered glass and trash litters the scene. Big chunks of brown and green are left behind, glittering like treasure, forgotten. Soggy paper bags, rings of soda cans, bottle caps, crushed cans, plastic.
They say it never stops raining here in the lonely rail yard; as if God was crying everyday after finishing his smoke. The city built a wire fence around the premise when it happened, and over time dry, brown vines encased the woven metal and hid its horrible view from the prying eyes of curious people.
Not that they didn’t know of course.
The night wares on, and the animals come out. They skitter over the sunken tracks, still alert for the raging beasts that traveled them. Three lined up and forever parallel, soundless.
Sometimes a coyote laughs deep into the silence, and those who pass by say they hear him wailing, forever trapped as long as those metal rails exist.
Tonight though, the noise is tucked in a thick blanket of fog. Through the mist forages a boy, his eyes swimming with tears. Karl staggers dangerously through the trees, following nothing but a path of grief. When he reaches the gate, it does not stand in the way to block him. He’s smart, brushing past the thick vines and clambering over the top. It takes shreds of his multicolored hoodie as a token of payment for his forwardness and disregard.
The other side batters his mismatched socks with mud. His shiny shoes are smothered beneath the surface, and the hem of his jeans picks up more of the muck.
He goes silent, hiccuping on occasions, then hurriedly tears the purple hair clips out of his curly, brown hair. The bouncy curls slowly unfold in the mist and he pushes them away from his face.
The clips are forgotten in the mud as he runs deep into the trees, away from the bright city lights.
All of the flattened grass leads to the three rusty rails. There are empty cars, joined together on the far right track, covered in fading graffiti. It’s black and ominous on the inside, but the boy jumps in to escape the heavy air. He curls up, knees to his chest, sharp eyes peering out at the trees which released him.
It started raining.
A soft drizzle patters down, pinging off of the car. The boy sniffles, watching the droplets spray down into the weedy trash. Water runs from gutters along the door, and he traces the droplets with curiosity.
He didn’t expect to see a boy sitting across from him, legs criss crossed in a slouchy pose.
He was sure he came here alone, and heard no one step up into the car- the creaky metal surely was alerting- so what was he doing here? How did he get inside?
“Hello?” He whispers out.
The boy does not say anything, but simply looks at him with tired, young eyes.
“Are you cold?” Karl motions to his saggy jacket and ripped jeans.
He simply nods.
“What is your name?”
The kid pauses, one hand reaching for the frayed ends of a dirty bandana wrapped in his black hair.
“Sapnap.”
Karl settles against the rusty wall of the car.
“What are you doing here? Nobody’s allowed to be in the train yard.”
“I live here.”
Silence spreads between them.
“Do you have a family? Surely they’re looking for you?”
“I did. They didn’t want me.”
He sighs, listening to the drizzle of rain as it picks up outside. His hands are clammy as the inside of the car grows cold.
“Mine too. Did you run away?”
Sapnap nods slowly.
Karl smiles.
“We can be runaways together!”
In the morning, soft sunlight illuminates the train cars. All but one has its doors bolted shut. Overgrown with weeds its wheels sink into mud, and how the train is situated on the ancient tracks is in such a way where nobody can easily peek inside. Dew covers the grass while steam drifts in the golden light.
The body of a young boy slouches on the floor. His lips are blue, his hands are grey. Water droplets accumulate on his thick lashes. Some begin to run down his frozen face as warmth returns to the train yard. He’s wrapped in a tattered black jacket, which soak up the melted tears.
Runaways in the train yard never come back.