The Kingdom Train

Goodbye.  

That was the last word I remembered saying before The Train jolted against the tracks and I bashed my head into the window I'd been resting against. I woke, slapping away the stream of drool that linked my mouth and shoulder like a spider web.  

I had no memory of boarding a train. Or any memory at all it seemed. I spun about in my seat to survey the carriage and found my legs automatically spring up with my feet tucking in against my thighs. I was alone. The carriage looked like it had been ripped straight out of the fifties, clinging to the rails and tearing itself inside out trying to stay there. I looked out the window, but the night was far too dark to see anything but my own reflection, so I pushed my back into it and looked inward. The seats next to me were ripped across the backs and the whole train seemed dilapidated. The seats were dressed in faded red cloth that matched the walls. Dim green lampshade hovered over 40 watt bulbs that were positioned on about five side tables. The lamps were made of a copper staff that ended in a little dragons head, firing out the bulb above. It didn't really match the room. A bar was directly opposite where I was sitting and had another two lamps on either end. I got up out of my seat and instinctively headed toward it. 

I sat at one of the red stools and found my knees touched the underside of the cedar bar-top. My fingers scrambled at the base of the chair, looking for a height setting, but found none. I spun a little, the slight scraping sound of my knees on unpolished wood echoed though the carriage. The shelves behind the bar were lined with dusty unopened bottles of alcohol. The 18 year old Glenfiddich caught my eye. After five minutes of waiting for a bartender, I decided to help myself. I looked right and left, and then right again like a child checking the road. I lifted myself up and laid across the surface, reaching desperately for the bottle. My hand edged closer and I managed to finger the container of delicious goods a little to the left, turning it as I did. It didn't get any closer. 

“You have to pay for that you know” A speaker shot to life at the far end of the carriage and I nearly shit my pants. I fell forward behind the bar with my arms folding underneath themselves and slammed my head into the floor; my reaction time was not quite how I expected it. I sprang to my feet and spun wildly around to see who'd caught me red handed. I was surprised to find I was still alone. 

“You should have been sent with a couple of pennies” the voice continued 

Where the hell is this guy? Is there a camera somewhere? 

I began patting my body, looking for a wallet as I scanned the roof trimming for the presence of a camera. I didn't find one, but I did find lumps in both side pockets of my jeans. I shoved my hands in simultaneously to find a phone on my right side, and a wallet on my left. I yanked them both out. The phone was dead and the wallet empty. 

“Eh, I don't think I was” I said. “My wallet's empty.” 

“Then you don't get a drink” the voice instantly replied. 

“Where are you anyway? Or better yet, where am I? Look I don't really remember much at the moment and I'm not feeling too great. Can you call someone?” The train remained silent for a time, save for the occasional clanking sounds of the wheels smacking the tracks. 

I lifted the bar hatch open, walked to the end of the carriage and tried the door. The handle was a long crank that had to be tilted, like a clock hand, to the left to release the lock, or so the diagram on the small window instructed. I yanked it as advised, but it didn't budge. Pressing my back into one side of the door frame and my foot into other, I heaved with all my weight. The crank groaned and finally let loose. My hands slipped off the inclined mechanism and I fell to the floor. I looked up to find the door still closed. 

“Seriously” I yelled out. “What the fuck is going on here? Where am I?” 

The speaker, now directly above me, crackled to life again. “You're on the Kingdom Train and I will be your conducter for this evening”. 

“Kingdom?” 

Fantastic. The hallucinations have kicked in. 

“Screw this” 

I walked back behind the bar and reached for the Glenfiddich. My fingers brushed the label once again, but this time the bottle seemed to jump from the shelf and kill itself on the weird, checkered linoleum floor below. Shattered glass rained over the floor like sand and then melted away, like the black and white squares were absorbing them.  

The scotch quickly followed.  

I rubbed my eyes and squinted.  

Great. Now I've really lost the plot. 

I grabbed a bottle of Glenmorangie. The best whiskys start with “Glen”. This time the bottle felt like wet soap. It slipped out of my grasp and shot upward. I flailed at it and managed to slap it with my left hand, tapping the bottom of the bottle, keeping it airborne for a few additional seconds. A few moments of failed juggling and the bottle descended toward its doom. I stuck my foot out in an attempt to ease the landing. It didn't help. 

“Fuck!” I shouted. 

Shattered glass rained out again and a shard caught my right calf, cutting it and spilling flecks of scarlet to the floor. The blood swirled in the pool of whisky and faded back into the linoleum as before. The thought of the floor absorbing my blood made me gag. 

“I told you, you need to pay first” The voice said calmly. 

“Yeah and I told you I haven't got any money!” I shouted back. “Where the fuck is this train headed anyway, and why can't I get off!? 

“You probably don't want to depart a train while it's moving.” The conducter said “Even for a dead guy; it's a bad idea” 

I froze. A thousand thoughts spilled from my head and onto the checkered floor, leaving my mind blank and causing a chill that wound so deep it manifested istelf as a tingle in my toes. In fact, my whole legs felt numb. I managed to scrap enough thoughts together to form the word 

“How?” 

“You tell me George” the conductor replied to the question that wasn't exactly directed at anyone. 

God. I was so out of it I didn't even realize I couldn't remember my own name. Apparently it was George. I slumped onto the floor where the booze had been before. I pictured myself going the same way, absorbed into little black and white squares. I scrambled out from behind the bar and threw myself at the nearest seat. Positioning myself as comfortably as I could, I inspected the wound on my leg. It wasn't too deep. I'd live, so to speak. 

For a dead guy, I bleed alright. 

“I don't remember anything” I said, which was partially a lie. I remembered saying the word “Goodbye” but it had no context in my mind. Did I know I was going to die when I said it? 

The conductor said “George, I can return your memories, but I can't see them. You need to talk me through why you're here. That's the only way you're getting off this thing.” 

I shook my head and shrugged my shoulders. 

“Yeah, sure” I replied. “Whatever” 

“This might hurt a bit. Try to hold still” 

Instantly my head felt like someone had lit my hair on fire and then pressed the top of my flaming skull in on itself until it touched the base of my jaw. Suffice to say, “might hurt a bit” was a gross understatement. After what felt like hours, the pain subsided and I found myself with my hands pressed firmly against the side of my face, nails digging into my head along the hair line. A small trail of blood ran down my index finger. I pried my jaw open and heard teeth creak from the pressure they'd just endured. 

It had all come back. 

“So George” The conductor said “Why are you here?” 

  

# 

  

I paced up and down the aisle. I needed time to process the information. It felt like remembering a dream. That sudden recollection that in turn makes you question how you could possibly have forgotten it. Like that part where the unicorn insulted the bear and instead of jumping to violence as you'd expect, he simply put his top hat back on, turned his back and walked away. It was like remembering a thousand of those dreams all at once. I needed a drink.  

I walked behind the bar and reached for another bottle. A cheap blend this time. I couldn't stomach the idea of ruining an aged single malt again. The bottle acted like my hand was letting off an opposing magnetic field and leaped, triumphiantly, to its death. Worth a shot. 

“George?” The conductor persisted. 

“Yeah, yeah” I muttered, back to pacing. “Jeez, give me a second” 

I scratched my head as I sat down, steadied my nerves and said “Alright, so what is it that you want from me?” 

“It's not what I want George, it's what you need.” The conducter said. “You know how you got here. You need to talk about it.” 

“Yeah” I replied. I did remember. I remembered everything, but it wasn't as simple as that. It was all a little hazy still and I felt like I needed more time to figure it out. 

“Look” I continued. “I'm still a bit out of it here but I'll do my best” 

I thought back to the car crash. The screech of tyres and ripping of metal. God, the ripping. I'm amazed I could have forgotten that sound. It seemed so etched into my brain at that moment. 

“It was a crash” I muttered. “I crashed my car into the back of a truck. That's how I died” 

“How you died has no bearing on why you ended up here George” The voice replied. 

“I'm sorry, what? I'm not sure I understand. You asked me to tell you how I got here. I'm pretty sure dying is how I fucking got here” 

“This place isn't as simple as that George. There are plenty of places you could have gone. The question is why did you end up here?” 

“So what, are you like Saint Peter or something? You're here to judge me on my sins?” 

The carriage went silent. I racked my broken and fragmented brain for the answers but all I kept coming back to was the crash. Red lights and then nothing. I tried to focus on the word “Goodbye” and find how it fit in. Suddenly Emily and Archie sprang to mind. 

“I had a wife and son” I said. “I left them behind” 

“Yes George, you did. How did you come to be behind the wheel that night? What lead to that situation” 

I put my head in my lap and scratched the back of my skull with both hands like I was trying to pry open a hole for my mind to escape.  

“I don't know. I don't remember” I said. 

“Bullshit” The conductor replied. “Think harder. It's all there” 

I straightened myself in my seat, sqeezed my eyes shut tight and said “Alright, I'll try.” 

I remembered arguing with Emily. Archie was crying. He was about three months old. He was letting out one of those serious death rattle cries. We were ignoring him, which indicated the argument must have been pretty serious. I remembered it had something to do with Zane, a good friend of mine. God the details were so vague it was like trying to remember your childhood. Are the details even correct? How much do your feelings change your perspective on memories? Could I even trust them at all? The conducter seemed to think I had the answers, so I tried to walk him through the story I'd pieced together. 

“It all started with Zane finding out his wife was cheating on him. We'd been friends with him and Ang since uni so it was a pretty big shock to Emily and I. Anyway, I took Zane out on the town to be his wingman. It was my idea. I thought he could hook up with some chick that wasn't his now ex-wife. I didn't tell Emily about it though. She'd think it was disgusting or something. Anyway, we head up to the bar at club Figero, this shitty little joint with sticky floors, and I tap a girl on the shoulder. Try to introduce her to Zane, you know? Anyway, she gets the hots for me and won't leave me alone. She's drunk as all shit too and hanging off me, meanwhile I keep trying to press her into Zane, but she's not fucking having it. Anyway, luckily this joint has a toilet with two entrances. I ditch her at one and exit out the other. Problem is, I stink of her perfume and I've got no idea. Zane doesn't end up getting lucky and it's a complete waste of a night. We split a taxi home, he started renting this place a couple streets over so we just caught the cab to my place and he stumbled home from there. So, I get home stinking of this broad's perfume and Emily flips the handle. I try to explain but she's not buying it. I'm drunk as all shit at this point, so I start screaming back. Archie wakes up screaming and that's my fault too. I fucking snap, head to the car and take off down the street.” I let out a sigh and sink further into my chair. 

“So there you have it. I crack the shits and drink-drive to my death, leaving my family behind. Maybe I do deserve to be here” 

“Jesus fucking Christ George” The speaker boomed 

“Are you allowed to say that..?” 

“We've been through this once every hundred years for the past millenium, and every Goddamn time you come back to this bullshit story” 

I go stiff. “What did you say? How long have I been on this train?” 

“You killed them George.” 

“No” 

“Yes. You killed them. Zane's wife wasn't cheating on him. Zane didn't have a wife. It was Emily he was having an affair with. You did leave them, but not alive. That's why you're here. You're just too much of a coward to admit it.” 

“No no no, that's not how I remember it. Besides, I wouldn't do that to Emily, even if what you say is true” 

I was shaking. Cold sweat oozed down my brow and no matter how many times I wiped it with my hand, I could still feel the cold chill running toward my eyes.  

“You killed your son George. Your three month old son” 

“HE WASN”T MY FUCKING SON!”  

I broke. 

I channeled all my anger and nervousness down to my right foot and let it bounce almost out of control. 

“I walked in on them together. I'd been out for a few hours and came back to that. We got into a screaming match and they told me Archie wasn't mine. I couldn't let them get away with it.” 

“You had sex with that girl at the bar George. What's so different between your infidelity and Emily's?” 

“That's completely different! I was drunk and I only fucked her the once!” 

“She wasn't the first girl though, was she George?” 

“Fuck you” 

I headed back to the bar and went to shove the bottles off the shelves to the floor. It was torturous that the bottles jumped off before I even got to touch them. I guess that's the whole point though. 

Well it's too late now, George” the conductor said “and besides, you're not sorry” 

“No, I suppose I'm not” I replied. 

Either the voice sighed or the speaker crackled with static. 

“Well, I guess I'll see you in another hundred years or so and we can try this all again. Goodbye George.” 

“What!?” I screamed “No, no come on! You can't do this to me!” 

I waited. Nothing. 

“Hello?” 

Nothing. 

“Hello?” 

  

The End