[Salone]

Anything I write or feel like writing that makes it to the 'Post' button. Feel free to judge/critique/bitch on whatever.

Because I just like writing crap and I'm told I should actually say hello and socialize and write things.

Most of it will be bits of short stories, poems, maybe song lyrics, story based plots for tabletop games, the works.

[Salone]

Destroyer of Dreams,
Ender of Kings,
Harbinger of the End.
A thousand worlds cease to be.

Smiling lovers' lives cut short,
Mysteries of a thousand lifetimes left unanswered.
It tears away all in to the forgotten reaches,
Its shrill cries a precursor of the tragedies.
It rings out,
Defiant reminder that all before it is a lie.
That it ushers in the dawning truths.

And is silenced,
As I bring my hand down upon my alarm clock.

Just five more minutes.

[Salone]

BANG!

That's how I died. Not in a bed in my old age. Not surrounded by those I loved. Not by an oncoming semi truck or freak satellite debris or something noteworthy enough to make it to some small town paper.

Just a shot to the back of the head.

It took me a moment to really grasp what was going on. I could see my body, and I could see me. Only, I wasn't me. I had a tinged and translucent look to myself, as if I was a reflection from stained glass. The filthy trash-ridden alley way stared back at me through my wispy hands. The physical me lay face down in the grime and muck, a neat bloody hole buried in the back of my skull. I could only imagine what the front of my face looked like. Seemed like an open casket funeral was out of the question for me.

As whatever my 'vision' was adjusted, I could see the figure who had plugged me. He was a scruffy sort, probably hopped up on something and out to do who knew what. I didn't have a sense of smell but that was probably for the best at the moment. He looked like he hadn't washed himself in days, and his clothes in longer. The stubby pistol that he had used on me fit well with his theme. In the dimness of the light one could barely make out 'Raven Arms' along the side. Cheap metal and plastic that barely held together, the guns were quite literally good for a few shots and then not much else. It was the kind of gun you chose if someone had to shoot you because you had the chance of living to see another day. No such luck here though. Saturday Night Specials got their names for a reason, and it looked as if I had become just another statistic to help push further gun control laws.

The scruffy guy hobbled over my body, bending in an awkward manner to reach for my pockets. He rifled through various bits until he found my wallet. Tossing it open like an eight year old getting a money card from a relative, he looked just as disappointed as an eight year old who discovers that the envelope only contains ten measly bucks and a Waffle House gift card.

'Scruffy' became more endearing to me as he prodded his grubby paws through the many folds in my wallet. He ignored my driver's license as it clattered to the ground. Pictures of the ex-wife and kid floated down to join the license and were quickly stomped upon as my murderer rummaged for anything else of use. I doubted he'd find much though. I had a punch card for the old Yogurt-Ur-Weigh, which did him no favors as the place had shut down over a year ago. Crime paid, but it only paid ten dollars in cash and eight thirty-seven in Waffle House money tonight.

He muttered as he gave up. My wallet sailed in to a mostly whole crate as he disposed of it, the 'valuable' contents disappearing inside his patchy coat. On the back of the coat were the faded words "I Served", but something told me he had acquired it as legitimately as he had my gift card. He passed through 'me' as if I wasn't there, and disappeared in to the night.

I should have been angry. I should have been sad or outraged or traumatized or at least mad at this lowlife for snuffing me over such an amount. A pointless waste of life over a pointless amount of money. The kind of thing that makes for a Death Wish sequel.

Instead of feeling any of these things though, I just felt...disappointed. I was never going to go home again. I'd never take someone back to my awful apartment again. Never fall asleep watching reruns of Adam 12. Never see the ex-wife. Never again see my kid. Hell, I'd never be able to have another waffle and chicken biscuit. My mind began swimming with a sea of 'Nevers'. I stood there for a while, trying to really take it all in. To 'cope' I suppose. The sadness attempted to creep in, but it felt like a wall was holding the brunt of real emotion at bay.

A shrill whistle sang a mournful tune in the distance. Deep and sorrowful, almost lonely. It carried for a time and then faded, echoes reverberating back and forth against the cinder block facades that towered above me. There was silence for a moment. Then it came again louder.

Trains didn't run at this hour. And even if they did, they had never sounded like that.

I had just enough time to turn my 'head' as a bright light flooded the alley. It lit up everything, piercing nooks and crannies, betraying the dirty little secrets of past misdeeds that lay forgotten. Behind the light a great shape of steel emerged, flowing in to the alley like some hulking beast. A large rounded front of elegant metalwork rode the face of a spectral engine. Massive wheels of decorated iron hissed steam and fog as they carried forward, riding ghostly rails that appeared to rise up from the ground as it advanced. A squat smokestack bellowed smoke and brimstone, darkening the already dim night sky. The horrible locomotive passed by my form like an unaware predator. Following behind the locomotive was an equally large tender. Intricate engravings draped across the side of the car, and fiery coal filled it to the brim. As it passed, I glimpsed the crew working the mound of coal.

Green tinged forms, shackled and bound to their shovels worked at the mountain of black. Skeletal beings fed the fires of this terrible construct. They slid by and disappeared behind the coal as the engine proceeded by, and were quickly forgotten as I saw the rest.

Behind the train and tender lay what seemed to be an infinite number of passenger cars. The carriages stretched off beyond my vision, disappearing in to the night. Their advancement had slowed to a crawl, and finally a halt as the engine gave a mighty sigh.

They would have been beautiful if they didn't terrify me. They were black with a dark green secondary color running the extent of the roof. Both ends tapered down and curved slightly, giving each car a defined, segmented look. Large and generous windows lined the sides, well lit but obscuring everything inside. The many wheels ran along individual trucks at each end, disappearing under a maze of metal fashionings. The ends of each car were exclaimed by elegant railings that swept in to pronounced stairwells, allowing passengers to easily vacate or board them. Fashionable scroll work near each end accented the car, and an ornate font informed me that I was standing before car number 37.

I only had a moment to contemplate what things this monstrosity before me might hold. There was a deep thunk, and then a click. A door at the front of the carriage in front of me creaked open. In the light streaming from the inside, I could barely make out a figure wrapped in a tattered blue vest and equally stressed slacks. He was old, and his clothing looked to be older. Grey hair was cropped short on his head, and the passage of time had carved glacier-like lines in his face. Bony hands on equally bony arms searched pockets on his person before one produced a silvery pocket watch. He studied it for a moment before tucking it away. We locked eyes as he looked up from his perch.

If I had a bladder, I'd be emptying it at this point.

"Jack Axton?"

He called my name with a bit of uncertainty. His voice was creaky, like an old door that saw a lot of use. His voice had probably seen the same.

"Yeah. That's...that's me."

It came out a lot less confident than I wanted it to. I was shaky and it showed. He nodded his head as if to confirm my confirmation of who I was. With a quick wave he motioned me aboard.

"Well come on then. It's time to go, Jackie."

"Go? And where are we going?"

He gave a sigh like he had been asked the question a few million times before me. With the excitement of a janitor giving directions to a water fountain, he replied to me.

"The same place that everyone goes. The End of the Line."