He drove his old Chevy to the edge of the quarry. The wheels crushed the pebbles underneath them to dust as they reached the ridge of the cliff. His foot pressed the brake. He rolled the window down and stuck his head out far enough to see over the edge. He turned off the headlights and took a deep breath.
He reached for his cigarettes. There were few left. He stuck it between his lips and put the car in park. He struck a match, then reclined in his seat and exhaled smoke. It was a still, cloudy night, silent except for the hum of the car and his own breath. He took another puff and something caught his eye. It was the old train tracks. They were covered in tall weeds, which made him wonder whether or not they were still in use. As a child his mother told him to stay away from them.
He was a good kid, had a couple good friends. More then, than he has now. He obeyed his mother for the most part. Except for when it came to the tracks. He felt guilty at first, but always covered his conscience by telling himself how slim the chances are of really get hit by a train. And anyways, what she doesn't know won't hurt her. But it didn't take her long to find out.
"I heard you and the boys have been playing on the tracks!" she scowled.
"No" he proclaimed with guilt. She glanced at him, as if his denial only helped prove her point.
"How many times do I have to tell you?" His shame made him deflate, and shrink in his chair. "Do you ever listen to me?" He avoided eye contact at all costs. His eyes searched the floor for something, a way out, anything. "I ask you to do one thing for me and you can't do that!?" He started breathing heavily and began to sweat. "How am I ever supposed to trust you when you lie to me!?" His sorrow turned to frustration. "Why can't you just listen!?" she yelled. And with that he burst out of his seat and shoved his mother in the chest. She went stumbling backwards and tripped over a chair. She came to a crash as she struck her head on the counter and fell to the ground. He turned his head and went up to his room.
He had to regularly see a psychiatrist who gave him an influx of drugs. His mother spends the rest of her life in a wheel chair. They don't talk. He doesn't talk to anyone in his family. They all give him the same look. It feeds his odium.
He flicks his finished cigarette out the window and reaches for his pack. He strikes another match as he thinks to himself, "Last one". Then he sees something. It's a kid, and he's got a dog on a leash. The dog seems angry, trying to break free. The dog is big, pulling the kid as he shouts. The kid yanks on the leash choking the dog as he curses loudly. Then he hears something off in the distance, something loud. It was a train, and it was barreling down the tracks. The dog shrieks and breaks free from the kid's grasp. The train becomes louder with each passing second. The kid runs after the dog, but he can't catch up. The light on the train becomes brighter and brighter. The kid falls to his knees and reaches into empty air as the colossal train obliterates the dog in it's tracks.
He forgets about his cigarette as he watches intently the passing train. He watched each box car until the last one went by. It revealed the kid collapsed to his knees, face in hands, on the ground weeping. An eternity passed as he gazed at the boy's body heaving in and out, crying hysterically. And then he thought to himself.
The train floats further and further into the night, and he flicks the cigarette out his window. He sticks his head out for one last look off the edge into the deep rock quarry. Then he turns his head and looks to the kid, who is now stumbling away wiping his eyes. He smiles, turns on his headlights, and puts the car in reverse.
