Zeke Winters

I never been much of a story teller, never spent time with much people. My life was lived mostly with trains, unlikely as it may be they took me in as their own. I believe that these steel creatures is thinking, feeling beasts, but I may be the only one of that inclination. It's only fair that trains raised me, since it was trains what orphaned me as well. My parents was simple rail-riding folk what didn't pay society no heed. They met each other on a steam train, just like the one I was born on. We didn't always have a train keeping us, but those was the best times. When you're next the guest of a train, and I tell you you're its guest, pay good attention to your surroundings. You got to smell like you is trying to breath in the whole world, and you'll know. I am not the best describer, but I can explain you the feel of trains. They move so fast, and it puts considerable strain on the beasts. They shake oh so slightly when you've got someplace to be. Their little shivers is them balancing preciously on the rails and being careful about how fast they go. When trains move too fast, they are likely to just go skittering off, and that isn't good for nobody. I tells you, trains roar with a deep anger for us folks. Well, not me as much as you lot. They was always meant to be free, but they know they got a job to do, protecting you folks on your ways to where you got to be. We, my family and I, was walking the rails without a train holding us from the outside, and it was getting mighty cold. I was about four that day, and I remember every detail, I reckon it isn't common for a man to forget the day his parents died. So, we was walking the rails, slowly as to hold energy and like our feet was made of iron. We had not been able to eat for a while, seeing as the cold drove off much of the wildlife. My pa, having given the last of his food to ma and me a ways back, collapsed on the rails. Ma tried to wake him up when we heard it. That roar, that frightened and sorry roar. That train didn't have no choice, and my ma wasn't moving anywhere. He done ran them over right in front of my eyes, which would have been a right terrifying thing to see. That train was among one of the most beautiful I ever witnessed. It was majestic, powerful, black as the coal it ate and the smoke it breathed. I seen its gold-lined accents and sleek tube-like shape. The air around it parted and the world around it was leaned in, as if to touch this marvel of life. It's very breath turned the just starting snow black, but he didn't bother consoling me so I didn't figure I needed consoling. I tried to walk in the snow, but my feet were yelling for me to stop. Whenever I figured on giving up and my eyes stopped looking, a train would pass by, shouting encouragement. I made my way to a station, I found it eventually, and the man operating it took pity on me. I lived my youth there, til I was able to take over, making sure the trains was on time. I talk to them when they got no hurry and the people give me funny looks, but I know they appreciate it. Trains is my life, not because of anything the done to me, but because of what they might do to others.