The trains whistle blew a long mournful sound. The crossing was coming up. I stood, brushing the hay from my backside and took up my things. Slinging my bag over my shoulder I grabbed the rung of the ladder that gave a path to the roof of the car. Planting my foot on the lowest rung, I leaned out over the ground rocketing away below me. Keeping my arm straight, but taught, I let myself sway in the wind rushing past and the movements of the train. I closed my eyes feeling the warm air becoming cold at the speed of the train’s travel. I could feel the stalks of tall grass plants whipping my boot covered foot that dangled freely below me. The whistle blew again and I opened my eyes. Wheat fields still stretched onto my left but the mechanical nature of the train’s fuel stop loomed in the distance. It seemed small from here, like it was built in miniature by the rough glue covered hands of an artisan building his world for the model trains he obsessed over. Silver metal glinted in the sunlight and workers, able to keep a steady job, scurried back and forth pausing at times to take a gander at the coming train.
“Almost.” I thought to myself. I could see the piles of wheat left to be picked up again by the farmer who owned the field. They were arranged in a pyramid like shape, perfect as a landing spot for disembarking the quick traveling train. Perfect, if you timed it right.
Now I’ve been on my fair share of trains at this point in time, but even the most experienced wanderer will most likely jump off into a fence or worse launching themselves into a pole. People die that way; luckily I haven’t been so unlucky as to suffer that fate thus my still being here.
The wheat pile was coming up quickly and my muscles tensed. I never liked this part my mind always took me to the dark possibility of death on disembarkation. Even if the train was slowing to come to a stop it was still deadly fast if not handled right. I planted my other foot on the bottom rung and readied to jump off.
“Wait for it, Adam.” My hand was getting sore. Whistle blew again and my breath caught in my throat.
“One more second, don’t freak out again.” Never got my first few jumps right, always waited longer out of fear,
“GO!” I screamed to myself in my mind and launched myself into the fast flowing air.
Very well written, though I thought the character was a girl. I believe that in this phrase "my arm straight, but taught, I let myself..." Taught should be taut. Nit picky. Anyways good job! I particulalr ylike the imagery.
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