Once upon a time there was a train.

Well now…, what to do, what to do, what to do.  The World Series is over and there is no Football on TV tonight (of course I don’t get ESPN so I don’t really know that), and my pro basketball team just won its first and probably only game of the season (I follow these games on the internet), college basketball is still a little ways off, so maybe I’ll just write a blog.  Oh wait!  It’s election night.  Now that is something I can watch on TV.  No, no, I don’t get the cable news shows (basic cable is so yesterday isn’t it?  Anyone want to lend me some money?), I wonder if it is still on any of the local stations…., this is Tuesday still isn’t it?  I have to check this out.

Yes I’m a junkie and now I just gotta go check in on the new sport in town…, watching the races…, political races.  Oh, oh, this is great, there they are now rounding the bend.  Look, with all of this action I don’t have time to write a blog so I will just leave you with a page or two of the first book I wrote a few years back.  It is not yet published, but let me know what you think.

The title of the book (this can change) is called ‘Getting Even… Almost’ and I’ve pasted in the first page or so of the first chapter.

Have fun.

Saverio

Chapter One:  Once upon a time there was a train.

The low rumble of three thousand plus, slightly out-of-tune horses could be felt as well as heard well before the train made its appearance.  A young girl on platform four viewed the underground station with suspicion as her knees began knocking together and the vibration in her stomach matched that of the support pillar she was leaning against.  When her jaw started to rattle, she move closer to the track to peer up the tunnel, but that was too much for her grandmother to bear.  The older woman elbowed her husband, who picked up on his cue after the second jab and leaped into action.  The elderly gentleman snagged his granddaughter gently, but firmly, by the elbow while pointing down to the tracks beneath the platform and said “You don’t want to fall in, do you?”

Emma didn’t answer, but did look to where his finger pointed, observing the trash strewn amongst the ties.  Following the line of track into the tunnel, she spotted particulate matter of all sorts floating on the air currents that rippled in and out of the pillars.  She thought of a television cartoon her brother liked, where young children rode surf boards beneath a jetty.  As she watched, pieces of old newspaper mixed with torn cellophane wrappers reflected the tunnel light back into the dust, creating ethereal bodies that seemed to float on the incoming tide.  Along with the ghosts came plastic drinking cup tops, straws, wadded up cigarette packages and other assorted detritus being pushed into the station by the approaching train.

Emma stood at the edge of the platform with anticipation building inside her to a point where she had to cross her legs and hold tight.  When the engine finally swung through the final curve, she sucked in a deep breath and held it while leaning out over the track as far as her grandfather’s grip allowed.  She could clearly see the bright swath of light cut by the high beam slowly align with the tracks.  Now only the headlight could be seen, getting larger and larger, and straining, so it seemed, to stay just ahead of the rolling thunder. 

Unfortunately, as the train continuously decelerated it took longer to actually arrive at the platform than she had calculated.  And when it finally did arrive, it was a bit of a letdown for the girl.  An old diesel, with worn Amtrak livery, seemed to ooze out of the tunnel, pulling the Pennsylvanian behind.  Because of the bustle upstairs in the station - the kiosks, shoe shine stand, people moving hurriedly from one point to another and the sounds of the powerful engines below on the platforms reverberating throughout, mixed with the clanging bells, plus the loudspeakers announcing arrivals and departures – she had expected a little more. 

“What a pile of junk!” Emma thought as she finally exhaled and placed her hands over her ears.  The engine passed by, swaying slightly, its brakes squealing.  When it had completely stopped, the nose of the engine was buried ten yards into the exit tunnel.  In what seemed to be by pure chance though, the various cars aligned perfectly with their prearranged unloading positions. 

That is all for tonight… let me know what you think of the opening to Getting Even… Almost.

“Don’t worry,” says Jim Gaffigan, “there is a bunny.”

Saverio Monachino's writing style has been termed by some as 'Kurt Vonnegut meets Mark Twain'.  Saverio describes it as 'comic fiction noir'. Regardless of the terms used, his attempt is to use humor to open the door to serious discussion about very important human issues.  You can find Saverio Monachino on www.comicfictionnoir.com.