Showing posts with label Time Train. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Time Train. Show all posts
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Time Train - Delayed Again
"Time Train" has been derailed yet again. It'll be on indefinite hiatus until my schedule stabilizes.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Time Train - Chapter 15
As promised, "Time Train," is back with the further adventures of Rhubarb T. Porterhut and crew.
___
After a bit of coaxing, Rhubarb T. Porterhut managed to get Columbus to leave the train cab. The discovery of the missing tracks had alarmed Rhubarb at first, but Fibulious had managed to assuage his fears for the time being. Their present predicament allowed no option for leaping in head first, so instead Rhubarb opted to dig in for the time being and think the issue out. However his stomach thought differently, and made that known to his associates, whose stomachs were thinking likewise. It had been some hours since they all had last eaten, and if they were going to work out a solution, they would have to acquire nourishment for their brains.
“We appear to be in a forest, so we should be able to find something of sustenance. Perhaps some form of vegetation will be able to see us through this.”
Rhubarb began to peruse the verdant forest around them. Many of the plants looked somewhat familiar, but different in a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
“This… might work. Yes, I believe this might be edible.”
Rhubarb grabbed the end of what appeared to be a fern. The fiddle-like tip was present on many of the plants around them.
“Futureman, you and Columbus gather up as many of these as you can. In the meantime, I shall see if I can procure us some water.”
Fibulious nodded and quickly got to work. While he was busy tearing the fiddleheads off, Columbus was precociously gathering them and putting them into a pile.
Rhubarb hopped back into the engine for a second to collect the water jug. At random he picked a direction and marched off into the forest. Several paces away, he found a clearing that opened further on into a path. From the looks of it, a rather high amount of traffic must have passed through there, as many of the weeds and undergrowth were trampled flat. Following the path, Rhubarb was able to hear running water in the distance. The sound of the water never rose above a babble, and pretty soon he found himself on the edge of a modest creek.
It had been a couple of days since he had bathed, so he took the opportunity to wash his face. Coal and soot caked his countenance, and the water swirled with black for several handfuls. The cool stream stood in stark contrast to the balmy weather, and it refreshed him. With all of the excitement in recent days, he hadn’t had a moment to himself, so he savored it.
After he had relaxed enough, he filled his jug with water, but when he started back, he glanced a movement from the corner of his eye. He turned, but saw nothing there. Whatever it was, it had flitted away, or so he thought. Turning back, he came face to face with a dragonfly the size of a Christmas ham.
“Sweet Jesus!”
Rhubarb took off through the forest like a headless chicken with its tail on fire. In the process he lost a good portion of the water. Tripping over sticks and stones, he never once looked back. Finally he made it back to the clearing and plowed straight on through to where Fibulious and Columbus were, knocking them over. When Fibulious had gathered his senses, he looked up to see Rhubarb, dazed and doubled over in front of him. When he finally lifted his head, he knocked Fibulious for a loop.
“Aaaahh!” screamed Fibulious, who took off in the opposite direction and dove behind a rock. “Wha’d you do with Mister Portrait?”
Rhubarb eventually caught his breath and dusted himself off. “It’s me, Futureman,” he replied. “Mister Porterhut.”
From behind his shield, Fibulious peered intently at Rhubarb’s face. “You mean you’re white?!” Rhubarb hadn’t thought about it, but this whole time his face had been covered in black. He laughed.
“Oh come, come. I washed my face with the water. See?” Rhubarb sloshed a little water onto his hand and rubbed some of the soot into his shirt.
Fiblious was still cautious, though, and remained crouched behind the stone. “Then why were you running all the way here?”
“When I was gathering the water I saw.…” Rhubarb thought for second. What was it that he saw? Unsure of what exactly it was, he didn’t want to alarm the boy. “I was just startled by my reflection, much as you were. The skin of my face has not seen the sun in a good while. Was it really that much of a shock?”
For a second, Fibulious let down his guard. “Well, you looked black, but you never acted like any folks I knew.”
Rhubarb smiled at him. “Black face or white, I am still the same person that promised to get you home.”
That was enough for Fibulious, who lowered his defenses completely and ran out to hug Rhubarb. Columbus, also feeling relieved, stopped shedding, and came out from underneath the train, hoping to join in on the love fest.
When they parted, Rhubarb offered the half-filled jug to Fibulious. “Here, have some water, and make sure Columbus gets his fill.” He patted the boys head reassuringly, while looking cautiously around them. “So how goes the gathering?”
Fibulious gulped the water down and pointed to a pile of fiddleheads. Then he poured some water into his hand and offered it to Columbus.
“Excellent work. This should do for the time being, but we will have to find other sources of food if we are to have the strength to find our way out of here.”
Fibulious handed the empty jug back to Rhubarb and walked over to the fiddleheads. He shoved a hand into the pile, and after several moments of rummaging, pulled out a rather large, leathery egg out from beneath the pile.
“Columbus found these. There’re about eight of them.”
“Really? Columbus found those?” It was an egg unlike any other, but it would have to do. “These will be a valuable source of protein. Mighty resourceful of you, Columbus.”
Columbus beamed at the recognition from his owner.
“I suppose we will need more water to cook these greens. I shall get some more then. In the meantime, we could use some firewood. We shall be setting up camp for the night.”
Fibulious was ecstatic, with Columbus a little less so. Rhubarb hesitated before heading back toward the creek. He thought back to the dragonfly he saw. He had never seen nor heard of one so large before. Rhubarb tried to stifle the sense of unease that was beginning to engulf him. With the sky growing dark, he felt less and less welcome. Wherever they were, or perhaps whenever they were, it was far from home.
___
After a bit of coaxing, Rhubarb T. Porterhut managed to get Columbus to leave the train cab. The discovery of the missing tracks had alarmed Rhubarb at first, but Fibulious had managed to assuage his fears for the time being. Their present predicament allowed no option for leaping in head first, so instead Rhubarb opted to dig in for the time being and think the issue out. However his stomach thought differently, and made that known to his associates, whose stomachs were thinking likewise. It had been some hours since they all had last eaten, and if they were going to work out a solution, they would have to acquire nourishment for their brains.
“We appear to be in a forest, so we should be able to find something of sustenance. Perhaps some form of vegetation will be able to see us through this.”
Rhubarb began to peruse the verdant forest around them. Many of the plants looked somewhat familiar, but different in a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
“This… might work. Yes, I believe this might be edible.”
Rhubarb grabbed the end of what appeared to be a fern. The fiddle-like tip was present on many of the plants around them.
“Futureman, you and Columbus gather up as many of these as you can. In the meantime, I shall see if I can procure us some water.”
Fibulious nodded and quickly got to work. While he was busy tearing the fiddleheads off, Columbus was precociously gathering them and putting them into a pile.
Rhubarb hopped back into the engine for a second to collect the water jug. At random he picked a direction and marched off into the forest. Several paces away, he found a clearing that opened further on into a path. From the looks of it, a rather high amount of traffic must have passed through there, as many of the weeds and undergrowth were trampled flat. Following the path, Rhubarb was able to hear running water in the distance. The sound of the water never rose above a babble, and pretty soon he found himself on the edge of a modest creek.
It had been a couple of days since he had bathed, so he took the opportunity to wash his face. Coal and soot caked his countenance, and the water swirled with black for several handfuls. The cool stream stood in stark contrast to the balmy weather, and it refreshed him. With all of the excitement in recent days, he hadn’t had a moment to himself, so he savored it.
After he had relaxed enough, he filled his jug with water, but when he started back, he glanced a movement from the corner of his eye. He turned, but saw nothing there. Whatever it was, it had flitted away, or so he thought. Turning back, he came face to face with a dragonfly the size of a Christmas ham.
“Sweet Jesus!”
Rhubarb took off through the forest like a headless chicken with its tail on fire. In the process he lost a good portion of the water. Tripping over sticks and stones, he never once looked back. Finally he made it back to the clearing and plowed straight on through to where Fibulious and Columbus were, knocking them over. When Fibulious had gathered his senses, he looked up to see Rhubarb, dazed and doubled over in front of him. When he finally lifted his head, he knocked Fibulious for a loop.
“Aaaahh!” screamed Fibulious, who took off in the opposite direction and dove behind a rock. “Wha’d you do with Mister Portrait?”
Rhubarb eventually caught his breath and dusted himself off. “It’s me, Futureman,” he replied. “Mister Porterhut.”
From behind his shield, Fibulious peered intently at Rhubarb’s face. “You mean you’re white?!” Rhubarb hadn’t thought about it, but this whole time his face had been covered in black. He laughed.
“Oh come, come. I washed my face with the water. See?” Rhubarb sloshed a little water onto his hand and rubbed some of the soot into his shirt.
Fiblious was still cautious, though, and remained crouched behind the stone. “Then why were you running all the way here?”
“When I was gathering the water I saw.…” Rhubarb thought for second. What was it that he saw? Unsure of what exactly it was, he didn’t want to alarm the boy. “I was just startled by my reflection, much as you were. The skin of my face has not seen the sun in a good while. Was it really that much of a shock?”
For a second, Fibulious let down his guard. “Well, you looked black, but you never acted like any folks I knew.”
Rhubarb smiled at him. “Black face or white, I am still the same person that promised to get you home.”
That was enough for Fibulious, who lowered his defenses completely and ran out to hug Rhubarb. Columbus, also feeling relieved, stopped shedding, and came out from underneath the train, hoping to join in on the love fest.
When they parted, Rhubarb offered the half-filled jug to Fibulious. “Here, have some water, and make sure Columbus gets his fill.” He patted the boys head reassuringly, while looking cautiously around them. “So how goes the gathering?”
Fibulious gulped the water down and pointed to a pile of fiddleheads. Then he poured some water into his hand and offered it to Columbus.
“Excellent work. This should do for the time being, but we will have to find other sources of food if we are to have the strength to find our way out of here.”
Fibulious handed the empty jug back to Rhubarb and walked over to the fiddleheads. He shoved a hand into the pile, and after several moments of rummaging, pulled out a rather large, leathery egg out from beneath the pile.
“Columbus found these. There’re about eight of them.”
“Really? Columbus found those?” It was an egg unlike any other, but it would have to do. “These will be a valuable source of protein. Mighty resourceful of you, Columbus.”
Columbus beamed at the recognition from his owner.
“I suppose we will need more water to cook these greens. I shall get some more then. In the meantime, we could use some firewood. We shall be setting up camp for the night.”
Fibulious was ecstatic, with Columbus a little less so. Rhubarb hesitated before heading back toward the creek. He thought back to the dragonfly he saw. He had never seen nor heard of one so large before. Rhubarb tried to stifle the sense of unease that was beginning to engulf him. With the sky growing dark, he felt less and less welcome. Wherever they were, or perhaps whenever they were, it was far from home.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Time Train - Delayed
"Time Train" is on hiatus again this week due to an overwhelming demand for Scene-It. Hopefully "Time Train" is back on schedule next week.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Time Train - Chapter 14
A day late, but no less great, here's the latest chapter of Time Train.
___
The engine eventually ground to a halt under its own power, allowing Rhubarb T. Porterhut to step down from the cab. Immediately he was assailed by a warm and humid air which engulfed him completely.
“Fibulious, hold onto Columbus and do not stray from the train.”
Fibulious was up and staring out the windows in wonder, oblivious to Columbus who managed a timid peak out the door from behind the cab walls. He didn’t hear a word that Rhubarb said, and quickly leapt down onto the mossy floor.
“Did you not heed my words?” hollered Rhubarb from beside a rather large tree.
Rhubarb attempted to corral Fibulious unsuccessfully, but had no need to worry about Columbus, as the African Husky had little desire to leave the engine cab. Meanwhile Fibulious was hopping over logs and looking under rocks—essentially just being a child.
“Wow! I never seen’d a forest before!”
Rhubarb was beginning to lose his patience chasing after Fibulious, and stomped his foot hard into a pile of twigs.
“Futureman, come here this instant. I am not sure where, or more likely when, we are, and it would be best if we do not venture too far from the one mode of apparatus that is likely to assist us in finding our way home.”
Coming to his senses, Fibulious stopped what he was doing and came back toward the train.
Wherever they were, it was certainly much different from where they had been before. Unlike the dark, bleak train yard they had been trying to escape from, the forest was full of vibrant greens and rich browns. The life around them could not be more different than the hint of death and decay they had left behind.
“Now I do not recall passing through or near any forests of this nature en route to. … Well, wherever it was where we were. This is most unusual.” Rhubarb attempted to mentally retrace their steps, but there were far too many holes to make complete sense of things. Instead he thought it better to focus on their present plight and see what could be done to remedy the situation.
“Futureman, come and help me examine the time traversal device.”
“The time versity vice?”
Rhubarb forgot that Fibulious was still newly acquainted with his creation. He pulled the young boy in close by his shoulders and pointed in the direction of the engine.
“Why, that is what we call the train. Officially, it is the space-distance and time-duration modulating traversal apparatus. ... Er, but you may call it the ... time train.” The name tickled both Fibulious as well as Rhubarb who hadn’t really considered much the form of his transportation.
“Now I need you to help me examine the time train to see if there is any damage to it. We stopped here rather unexpectedly and if we need to manage some repairs we will have to work quickly.”
Rhubarb began to inspect the engine thoroughly, looking for any sort of cracks or structural damage that might have caused the train to stop and that might be detrimental to further travel. However Fibulious was unsure of what exactly to look for, and kind of hovered around the train, trying to look like he knew what he was doing.
“What are we looking for Mister Portrait?”
“Why, cracks. Holes, steam leaks, burst valves. Anything that might make it difficult for us to go home.”
Fibulious stopped for a second, then as if he had noticed something, crawled between the large wheels and climbed underneath the train. “Mister Portrait?”
Although he was locked in concentration, Rhubarb managed a reply. “Yes, Futureman. Have you found something?”
“This is a train, right?”
“It is a time train, yes.”
“Does the time train need to run on railroad tracks?”
“Well, it is a train after all. What are you getting at?”
“Look!”
Rhubarb bent down to spy Fibulious underneath the train, but more important was that which was absent from beneath the train.
“Egads! No track?!”
Now it made sense why the train had stopped of its own accord. Without any railroad tracks to ride upon, the engine had sunk into a patch of dirt and moss. Rhubarb was beside himself.
“What are we to do? I never had any intention of operating the time traversal apparatus without railroad tracks.”
Fibulious crawled out from beneath the train and sat down beside Rhubarb. With a simple gesture he tugged on Rhubarb’s pant leg.
“It’s alright, Mister Portrait. You built the time train, right? That means you can figure out a way for us to get the time train to move again.”
Rhubarb generally had only his self-confidence to bolster his spirits, but the added confidence of his associate was enough to steel his nerve. “Perhaps you are right. As one of this century’s greatest inventors, I, Rhubarb T. Porterhut III, shall find a way.”
___
The engine eventually ground to a halt under its own power, allowing Rhubarb T. Porterhut to step down from the cab. Immediately he was assailed by a warm and humid air which engulfed him completely.
“Fibulious, hold onto Columbus and do not stray from the train.”
Fibulious was up and staring out the windows in wonder, oblivious to Columbus who managed a timid peak out the door from behind the cab walls. He didn’t hear a word that Rhubarb said, and quickly leapt down onto the mossy floor.
“Did you not heed my words?” hollered Rhubarb from beside a rather large tree.
Rhubarb attempted to corral Fibulious unsuccessfully, but had no need to worry about Columbus, as the African Husky had little desire to leave the engine cab. Meanwhile Fibulious was hopping over logs and looking under rocks—essentially just being a child.
“Wow! I never seen’d a forest before!”
Rhubarb was beginning to lose his patience chasing after Fibulious, and stomped his foot hard into a pile of twigs.
“Futureman, come here this instant. I am not sure where, or more likely when, we are, and it would be best if we do not venture too far from the one mode of apparatus that is likely to assist us in finding our way home.”
Coming to his senses, Fibulious stopped what he was doing and came back toward the train.
Wherever they were, it was certainly much different from where they had been before. Unlike the dark, bleak train yard they had been trying to escape from, the forest was full of vibrant greens and rich browns. The life around them could not be more different than the hint of death and decay they had left behind.
“Now I do not recall passing through or near any forests of this nature en route to. … Well, wherever it was where we were. This is most unusual.” Rhubarb attempted to mentally retrace their steps, but there were far too many holes to make complete sense of things. Instead he thought it better to focus on their present plight and see what could be done to remedy the situation.
“Futureman, come and help me examine the time traversal device.”
“The time versity vice?”
Rhubarb forgot that Fibulious was still newly acquainted with his creation. He pulled the young boy in close by his shoulders and pointed in the direction of the engine.
“Why, that is what we call the train. Officially, it is the space-distance and time-duration modulating traversal apparatus. ... Er, but you may call it the ... time train.” The name tickled both Fibulious as well as Rhubarb who hadn’t really considered much the form of his transportation.
“Now I need you to help me examine the time train to see if there is any damage to it. We stopped here rather unexpectedly and if we need to manage some repairs we will have to work quickly.”
Rhubarb began to inspect the engine thoroughly, looking for any sort of cracks or structural damage that might have caused the train to stop and that might be detrimental to further travel. However Fibulious was unsure of what exactly to look for, and kind of hovered around the train, trying to look like he knew what he was doing.
“What are we looking for Mister Portrait?”
“Why, cracks. Holes, steam leaks, burst valves. Anything that might make it difficult for us to go home.”
Fibulious stopped for a second, then as if he had noticed something, crawled between the large wheels and climbed underneath the train. “Mister Portrait?”
Although he was locked in concentration, Rhubarb managed a reply. “Yes, Futureman. Have you found something?”
“This is a train, right?”
“It is a time train, yes.”
“Does the time train need to run on railroad tracks?”
“Well, it is a train after all. What are you getting at?”
“Look!”
Rhubarb bent down to spy Fibulious underneath the train, but more important was that which was absent from beneath the train.
“Egads! No track?!”
Now it made sense why the train had stopped of its own accord. Without any railroad tracks to ride upon, the engine had sunk into a patch of dirt and moss. Rhubarb was beside himself.
“What are we to do? I never had any intention of operating the time traversal apparatus without railroad tracks.”
Fibulious crawled out from beneath the train and sat down beside Rhubarb. With a simple gesture he tugged on Rhubarb’s pant leg.
“It’s alright, Mister Portrait. You built the time train, right? That means you can figure out a way for us to get the time train to move again.”
Rhubarb generally had only his self-confidence to bolster his spirits, but the added confidence of his associate was enough to steel his nerve. “Perhaps you are right. As one of this century’s greatest inventors, I, Rhubarb T. Porterhut III, shall find a way.”
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Time Train - Chapter 13
What strange land do Rhubarb and Co. find themselves in today? Or when do they find themselves yesterday?
___
“Bong! Bong! Bong!”
Florentine Lily Porterhut stepped through the threshold of the door just as the grandmother clock chimed. She had gotten to the butcher shop just in time to fetch a couple of their last good steaks.
She had also stopped off for a newspaper and to purchase some more yarn at the local textile factory. They occasionally ended up with leftover unsuitables that Florentine would snatch up for a minor penny. So with supper and the newspaper and the yarn tucked under her arms, she managed to make it home in a little less than an hour.
Florentine could never really be sure when her husband Rhubarb would be home. All that she knew was that he would be there before their food was ready to be set on the table. So with two or three hours before Rhubarb and Columbus would be home, she thought she could take her time in preparing supper.
At the butcher’s she was able to secure two fine steaks, one for Rhubarb, and one to share between herself and Columbus. While she and Columbus did not always see eye-to-eye, they yet shared a bond that also translated to their food, and she was more than willing to oblige. Furthermore she could see that Columbus took little pleasure in life aside from sleeping in his bed and eating, and for the latter she could at least make a bit of difference.
If there were many things that Florentine was unskilled in, cooking was not one of them—and in fact she was an adept cook from the age of three when she cooked her first, perfect soft-boiled egg. In the kitchen she glided around like an ice dancer across a freshly frozen pond. In mere seconds she trimmed the two steaks of all undesirables leaving only that which was consumable and worthwhile. And with genteel manner she seasoned them to perfection—a grain more or less of salt would have been too much or too little respectively. With both hunks of meat prepared, she moved on to cleaning and prepping the potatoes, peeling and cutting them and tossing them in seasonings.
Rhubarb was not especially fussy when it came to food, but Florentine knew how to take a simple taste and make it bloom. For despite her simultaneously real and feigned indifference toward her husband’s profession, she loved him dearly, and through her cooking, showed her affection.
“Bong! Bong! Bong! Bong!”
“Four o’clock already? Perhaps I should start the stove soon,” she thought to herself. But then she began to wonder what kind of excitement Rhubarb had gotten himself into today, and thought that she should hold off just a little longer before cooking the potatoes. After all, the rest would give both the meat and the potatoes ample time to marinate.
She washed her hands and resolved to knitting some more. But when she sat down, an article in the newspaper on recent paleontological discoveries caught her eye. The article discussed fossil findings in Northern America.
“Imagine that. Giant creatures roaming down our very streets.” The idea tickled her and before she knew it she had read away several minutes.
At nearly a half past, she had to get everything on the stove if she was going to be ready for Rhubarb and Columbus’ return. So setting down the paper, she set up to cook, but somehow she just couldn’t shake the idea of dinosaurs out of her head.
___
“Bong! Bong! Bong!”
Florentine Lily Porterhut stepped through the threshold of the door just as the grandmother clock chimed. She had gotten to the butcher shop just in time to fetch a couple of their last good steaks.
She had also stopped off for a newspaper and to purchase some more yarn at the local textile factory. They occasionally ended up with leftover unsuitables that Florentine would snatch up for a minor penny. So with supper and the newspaper and the yarn tucked under her arms, she managed to make it home in a little less than an hour.
Florentine could never really be sure when her husband Rhubarb would be home. All that she knew was that he would be there before their food was ready to be set on the table. So with two or three hours before Rhubarb and Columbus would be home, she thought she could take her time in preparing supper.
At the butcher’s she was able to secure two fine steaks, one for Rhubarb, and one to share between herself and Columbus. While she and Columbus did not always see eye-to-eye, they yet shared a bond that also translated to their food, and she was more than willing to oblige. Furthermore she could see that Columbus took little pleasure in life aside from sleeping in his bed and eating, and for the latter she could at least make a bit of difference.
If there were many things that Florentine was unskilled in, cooking was not one of them—and in fact she was an adept cook from the age of three when she cooked her first, perfect soft-boiled egg. In the kitchen she glided around like an ice dancer across a freshly frozen pond. In mere seconds she trimmed the two steaks of all undesirables leaving only that which was consumable and worthwhile. And with genteel manner she seasoned them to perfection—a grain more or less of salt would have been too much or too little respectively. With both hunks of meat prepared, she moved on to cleaning and prepping the potatoes, peeling and cutting them and tossing them in seasonings.
Rhubarb was not especially fussy when it came to food, but Florentine knew how to take a simple taste and make it bloom. For despite her simultaneously real and feigned indifference toward her husband’s profession, she loved him dearly, and through her cooking, showed her affection.
“Bong! Bong! Bong! Bong!”
“Four o’clock already? Perhaps I should start the stove soon,” she thought to herself. But then she began to wonder what kind of excitement Rhubarb had gotten himself into today, and thought that she should hold off just a little longer before cooking the potatoes. After all, the rest would give both the meat and the potatoes ample time to marinate.
She washed her hands and resolved to knitting some more. But when she sat down, an article in the newspaper on recent paleontological discoveries caught her eye. The article discussed fossil findings in Northern America.
“Imagine that. Giant creatures roaming down our very streets.” The idea tickled her and before she knew it she had read away several minutes.
At nearly a half past, she had to get everything on the stove if she was going to be ready for Rhubarb and Columbus’ return. So setting down the paper, she set up to cook, but somehow she just couldn’t shake the idea of dinosaurs out of her head.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Time Train - Chapter 12
The Time Train rolls on with...
___
Just as Rhubarb T. Porterhut had surmised, they eventually reached the turn table at a literal dead end—the edge of a cliff with peppered with dried-up brown plants. It took a while for Rhubarb to get the turn table to work, as it looked at first to be rusted beyond use. It didn’t look as though it had been used for years.
“Why, Futureman, when was it last you saw one of the engineers pass through the train yard?”
Fibulious thought for a second, and held up two fingers. “Two days ago, I guess.”
“And you say you saw them return from the same direction?”
Fibulious nodded.
It didn’t seem right, and yet this was the only location where those engineers could have ended up. It was only a short distance from the train yard, and could not have been nearly enough time for them to make a significant trip into the future. So as they pulled away from the plateau, Rhubarb couldn’t help but feel wary.
Only eight short minutes later, they began to approach the train yard again. But as they drew closer, Rhubarb got the stark feeling that the train yard was ... different. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it seemed even darker, more world-weary. Columbus felt something as well, as he began to shiver and shed uncontrollably, and voluntarily climbed into his sack.
Meanwhile Rhubarb slowed the engine down so that it crawled rather than charged toward the uninviting train cemetery. And he pulled Fibulious close to him, and kneeled down.
Without turning his gaze from the train yard ahead of them, Rhubarb gripped Fibulious’ shirt and pointed. “Futureman, does anything strike you as particularly odd about those trains.”
Fibulious stared in the direction indicated by Rhubarb, and squinted through the mist that had only just appeared. He stared a good long while before he could answer.
“I haven’t seen it from this direction, but I never seen those trains before.”
While still rusted and decayed, the trains that lay before them were of a type that Rhubarb had never seen. Furthermore the train yard seemed to be larger than it had been earlier, looming over the landscape like a bear embracing a salmon dinner on an empty stomach. As they neared the entrance, Rhubarb thought it best to make their way through as quickly as possible, and began feeding more wood to the fire.
“Steady, lads. We will just be a short time passing through this place, then we shall be back on the path for home.” He said it both to bolster the spirits of Columbus and Fibulious, as well as himself.
With the train beginning to pick up speed, Rhubarb began to relax, as did Fibulious, but Columbus was less sure. A low rumble soon began to rise up from the ground beneath them, until it overcame the roar of the engine and shook the earth.
“What is this? An earthquake?”
Rhubarb grabbed onto Fibulious who in turn held onto Columbus’ sack. The ground continued to churn beneath them while the sound of the rumbling started to morph into a shrill howl. They were about halfway through the train yard which seemed to stretch on for miles more.
“I have a grip on you, so hold tight to Columbus!” Rhubarb’s off hand held onto the frame of the cab. The world around them seemed to be inverting, as their engine fought to stay upright on the tracks.
At the edge of his peripheral vision, Rhubarb saw it—the decomposing trains were rising. Like iron giants, the train carriages and engines began to stir and stand on end, towering around them. The whole train yard was coming to life.
Rhubarb pulled Fibulious in closer and got his arm around him. “Just shut your eyes and hold on tight.” Both Fibulious and Columbus complied.
They were speeding along, but they still weren’t making enough ground to escape. All around them resurrected trains were shifting and howling. Even ones where the wheels had rusted off began to ride on ghostly rails alongside them.
Fibulious began to cry, but kept his eyes shut as instructed. “What’s happening?”
“Nothing, just a bit of a quake and the wind blowing,” Rhubarb tried to reassure the boy unconvincingly.
“This isn’t going to work,” thought Rhubarb to himself. “We need to get out of here this instant.”
Although his equilibrium was greatly affected by the revolting ground, Rhubarb was able to pull Fibulious and Columbus closer. “Fibulious, take hold of this handle.” He guided Fibulious’ hand, and once assured of his grip, sought about his task.
Leaving Fibulious firmly bolted to both the side of the cab and to Columbus, Rhubarb made his way slowly to the throttle. Hugging the walls, he made it to the throttle and opened up it up as far as it could go. They would burn a lot of fuel, but if they didn’t get out of there now, it would be a moot point. The engine surged forward even more, narrowly avoiding a collision from one of the derelict trains. Then, fighting the forces of physics, Rhubarb climbed toward the time dial. By now his body felt as though it was being pulled apart in multiple directions, and it took every ounce of his strength to keep himself from being flung out into time and space.
“Hold on, you two! And whatever you do, keep your eyes shut!”
With a last second lunge, Rhubarb reached for the time dial and turned it past the “T” in “PAST.” The rest of his strength he directed toward securing himself to a grouping of levers. He clenched his eyes shut as the engine shuddered around him. Through the howling he could hear the snapping and the popping of the metal surrounding him being pushed to its limits. In his mind he saw an image of his dear Florentine, and wondered if he’d ever get to wear the sweater she had been knitting when he left.
As Rhubarb thought about his wife, he noticed that the earth was no longer shaking and that the howling was dying down. When it all had subsided, he opened his eyes and pulled back on the throttle.
Fibulious and Columbus were up as well, staring out at the world that lay before them. Rhubarb had to rub his eyes hard at what he saw—they were no longer in the train yard. No, they now found themselves in the midst of a large forest.
___
Just as Rhubarb T. Porterhut had surmised, they eventually reached the turn table at a literal dead end—the edge of a cliff with peppered with dried-up brown plants. It took a while for Rhubarb to get the turn table to work, as it looked at first to be rusted beyond use. It didn’t look as though it had been used for years.
“Why, Futureman, when was it last you saw one of the engineers pass through the train yard?”
Fibulious thought for a second, and held up two fingers. “Two days ago, I guess.”
“And you say you saw them return from the same direction?”
Fibulious nodded.
It didn’t seem right, and yet this was the only location where those engineers could have ended up. It was only a short distance from the train yard, and could not have been nearly enough time for them to make a significant trip into the future. So as they pulled away from the plateau, Rhubarb couldn’t help but feel wary.
Only eight short minutes later, they began to approach the train yard again. But as they drew closer, Rhubarb got the stark feeling that the train yard was ... different. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it seemed even darker, more world-weary. Columbus felt something as well, as he began to shiver and shed uncontrollably, and voluntarily climbed into his sack.
Meanwhile Rhubarb slowed the engine down so that it crawled rather than charged toward the uninviting train cemetery. And he pulled Fibulious close to him, and kneeled down.
Without turning his gaze from the train yard ahead of them, Rhubarb gripped Fibulious’ shirt and pointed. “Futureman, does anything strike you as particularly odd about those trains.”
Fibulious stared in the direction indicated by Rhubarb, and squinted through the mist that had only just appeared. He stared a good long while before he could answer.
“I haven’t seen it from this direction, but I never seen those trains before.”
While still rusted and decayed, the trains that lay before them were of a type that Rhubarb had never seen. Furthermore the train yard seemed to be larger than it had been earlier, looming over the landscape like a bear embracing a salmon dinner on an empty stomach. As they neared the entrance, Rhubarb thought it best to make their way through as quickly as possible, and began feeding more wood to the fire.
“Steady, lads. We will just be a short time passing through this place, then we shall be back on the path for home.” He said it both to bolster the spirits of Columbus and Fibulious, as well as himself.
With the train beginning to pick up speed, Rhubarb began to relax, as did Fibulious, but Columbus was less sure. A low rumble soon began to rise up from the ground beneath them, until it overcame the roar of the engine and shook the earth.
“What is this? An earthquake?”
Rhubarb grabbed onto Fibulious who in turn held onto Columbus’ sack. The ground continued to churn beneath them while the sound of the rumbling started to morph into a shrill howl. They were about halfway through the train yard which seemed to stretch on for miles more.
“I have a grip on you, so hold tight to Columbus!” Rhubarb’s off hand held onto the frame of the cab. The world around them seemed to be inverting, as their engine fought to stay upright on the tracks.
At the edge of his peripheral vision, Rhubarb saw it—the decomposing trains were rising. Like iron giants, the train carriages and engines began to stir and stand on end, towering around them. The whole train yard was coming to life.
Rhubarb pulled Fibulious in closer and got his arm around him. “Just shut your eyes and hold on tight.” Both Fibulious and Columbus complied.
They were speeding along, but they still weren’t making enough ground to escape. All around them resurrected trains were shifting and howling. Even ones where the wheels had rusted off began to ride on ghostly rails alongside them.
Fibulious began to cry, but kept his eyes shut as instructed. “What’s happening?”
“Nothing, just a bit of a quake and the wind blowing,” Rhubarb tried to reassure the boy unconvincingly.
“This isn’t going to work,” thought Rhubarb to himself. “We need to get out of here this instant.”
Although his equilibrium was greatly affected by the revolting ground, Rhubarb was able to pull Fibulious and Columbus closer. “Fibulious, take hold of this handle.” He guided Fibulious’ hand, and once assured of his grip, sought about his task.
Leaving Fibulious firmly bolted to both the side of the cab and to Columbus, Rhubarb made his way slowly to the throttle. Hugging the walls, he made it to the throttle and opened up it up as far as it could go. They would burn a lot of fuel, but if they didn’t get out of there now, it would be a moot point. The engine surged forward even more, narrowly avoiding a collision from one of the derelict trains. Then, fighting the forces of physics, Rhubarb climbed toward the time dial. By now his body felt as though it was being pulled apart in multiple directions, and it took every ounce of his strength to keep himself from being flung out into time and space.
“Hold on, you two! And whatever you do, keep your eyes shut!”
With a last second lunge, Rhubarb reached for the time dial and turned it past the “T” in “PAST.” The rest of his strength he directed toward securing himself to a grouping of levers. He clenched his eyes shut as the engine shuddered around him. Through the howling he could hear the snapping and the popping of the metal surrounding him being pushed to its limits. In his mind he saw an image of his dear Florentine, and wondered if he’d ever get to wear the sweater she had been knitting when he left.
As Rhubarb thought about his wife, he noticed that the earth was no longer shaking and that the howling was dying down. When it all had subsided, he opened his eyes and pulled back on the throttle.
Fibulious and Columbus were up as well, staring out at the world that lay before them. Rhubarb had to rub his eyes hard at what he saw—they were no longer in the train yard. No, they now found themselves in the midst of a large forest.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Time Train - Chapter 11
New acquaintances and new experiences await Rhubarb T. Porterhut and company.
___
With his newfound friend and associate, Fibulious, Rhubarb T. Porterhut was more determined than ever to find his way back to his beloved Florentine, but first they had to find more fuel, as their detour had cost them nearly all of their coal.
Rhubarb rubbed his head, scanning the space around him. “Well, if any of us are to make it home, we must find more coal, or at least a sufficient substitute.”
“Some of these trains still have some coal in them. We could use that.” Fibulious started to run off, forgetting that Rhubarb and Columbus did not know the area as well as he. But Rhubarb stopped him short with a finger snap.
“An excellent idea, but perhaps we should proceed together. While my eyes have adjusted adequately enough, I can no better navigate this train yard than I could a cornfield maze. Lead the way, Fibulious, but stay close.”
So Fibulious led them from engine to engine, as they manage to collect a few coals here and there. The engineers must have collected much of the leftover coals when they interred the trains, such that Rhubarb and company were only able to collect a scant amount. It wasn’t enough to get them home, if only they knew in which direction home lay, and was barely enough to get them out of that train graveyard.
After about an hour of intense searching, Rhubarb knew they were going to have to find another solution. “This simply will not do. We will have to have more, quite a bit more, if we are to depart from here.”
Then Rhubarb remembered how he had tripped over the pile of wood. There was ample enough wood around them, in piles and in the trains themselves. While it would not be as efficient as coal, it would have to do for the time being.
“Wood. We can use wood. Quickly everyone, we do not want to have to spend tonight here. Fibulious, you and Columbus can work together gathering wood while I cover this section.”
With bits of wood here or there in nearly every direction, it was not as important for everyone to stay together, so while Rhubarb went off on his own, Fibulious took Columbus, and started disassembling piles of wood to stack on Columbus’ back. For Columbus, it wasn’t the most desirous of situations, but the sooner they collected the wood, the sooner he could be back in his own bed.
Another hour or so of diligent wood gathering yielded enough burnable material to be able to get them away from that wretched place. They had to pluck the skeletons of ancient trains in order to do so, and such desecration left them eager to leave. With the train loaded for bear, it was time to for them to go.
“Now that we have fuel, I suppose the best way to find home, is to get ourselves turned around.”
Fibulious offered a solution. “I’ve seen the men take their trains that way. Then they come back in a little while, but turned around.”
“Sounds as though there is a turntable nearby. We will make excellent use of it then. Come.”
Rhubarb pulled Fibulious up onto the engine with Columbus leaping after. Together, they began shoveling wood into the furnace and started the fire going. The locomotive was slow to take, but eventually starting breathing with life.
“I take it this is your first time being in the cab of a steam engine, am I right?”
“Yes, sir, yes,” Fibulious nodded. His excitement was palpable and contagious, and lifted everyone’s spirits.
“Then let us go home, shall we?”
Rhubarb pulled a lever and the train began to move. Fibulious eagerly peered out the sides, with Rhubarb careful to keep a hold of his tattered shirt. After several minutes, Fibulious began to calm down, and stopped darting around the rather small engine cab.
“If you do not mind if I pry a bit, what ever made you decide to run away from home?”
Fibulious looked down, then away, which Rhubarb mistook for a shyness.
“If it is a sensitive subject for you...”
“Trouble... I got into trouble,” answered Fibulious, still not looking at him.
“What kind of trouble?”
Fibulious shook his head from side to side, and Rhubarb knew there wasn’t going to be anything else forthcoming on the subject, at least for the moment. So he decided to change the subject.
“Well, I wonder what time it is right now. My watch says 6:30. Is it still Saturday, I wonder?”
“I think it’s Sunday,” offered Fibulious.
“Sunday, why then ... we should be more than several hours in the future.”
“The future?”
Rhubarb forgot that young Fibulious had no knowledge of Columbus’ and his experiment. Explaining the situation was a bit of a conundrum.
“Well. You see, I am an inventor, and Columbus and I are performing a grand experiment, the likes of which mankind has never been witness to. In short, we are time-space travelers.”
Fibulious’ eyes went wide to the point of almost bulging out of their sockets.
“And, in reference to our time, you would appear to be from our future.”
“You mean you came from the past?”
Rhubarb was surprised by Fibulious comprehension of time, but was no less delighted by his enthusiasm.
“Why yes. So you being from our future makes you in some ways a future man.”
“A future man,” wondered Fibulious. “That sounds mighty fine.”
“You like that, do you? Well that is what I shall call you then, Fibulious. Futureman.”
Fibulious was beaming from ear to ear. “Wow, Mister Portrait, that’s awfully nice of you. I never had a nickname before.”
“Well, Futureman, I’m glad you like it.”
As their time device moved farther and farther away from the train yard, all three passengers rested content, looking forward to reaching the turntable so that they could start their trip in earnest. Thinking about what the future held, Rhubarb remembered his watch and decided he should wind it since he couldn’t remember the last time he had done so.
___
With his newfound friend and associate, Fibulious, Rhubarb T. Porterhut was more determined than ever to find his way back to his beloved Florentine, but first they had to find more fuel, as their detour had cost them nearly all of their coal.
Rhubarb rubbed his head, scanning the space around him. “Well, if any of us are to make it home, we must find more coal, or at least a sufficient substitute.”
“Some of these trains still have some coal in them. We could use that.” Fibulious started to run off, forgetting that Rhubarb and Columbus did not know the area as well as he. But Rhubarb stopped him short with a finger snap.
“An excellent idea, but perhaps we should proceed together. While my eyes have adjusted adequately enough, I can no better navigate this train yard than I could a cornfield maze. Lead the way, Fibulious, but stay close.”
So Fibulious led them from engine to engine, as they manage to collect a few coals here and there. The engineers must have collected much of the leftover coals when they interred the trains, such that Rhubarb and company were only able to collect a scant amount. It wasn’t enough to get them home, if only they knew in which direction home lay, and was barely enough to get them out of that train graveyard.
After about an hour of intense searching, Rhubarb knew they were going to have to find another solution. “This simply will not do. We will have to have more, quite a bit more, if we are to depart from here.”
Then Rhubarb remembered how he had tripped over the pile of wood. There was ample enough wood around them, in piles and in the trains themselves. While it would not be as efficient as coal, it would have to do for the time being.
“Wood. We can use wood. Quickly everyone, we do not want to have to spend tonight here. Fibulious, you and Columbus can work together gathering wood while I cover this section.”
With bits of wood here or there in nearly every direction, it was not as important for everyone to stay together, so while Rhubarb went off on his own, Fibulious took Columbus, and started disassembling piles of wood to stack on Columbus’ back. For Columbus, it wasn’t the most desirous of situations, but the sooner they collected the wood, the sooner he could be back in his own bed.
Another hour or so of diligent wood gathering yielded enough burnable material to be able to get them away from that wretched place. They had to pluck the skeletons of ancient trains in order to do so, and such desecration left them eager to leave. With the train loaded for bear, it was time to for them to go.
“Now that we have fuel, I suppose the best way to find home, is to get ourselves turned around.”
Fibulious offered a solution. “I’ve seen the men take their trains that way. Then they come back in a little while, but turned around.”
“Sounds as though there is a turntable nearby. We will make excellent use of it then. Come.”
Rhubarb pulled Fibulious up onto the engine with Columbus leaping after. Together, they began shoveling wood into the furnace and started the fire going. The locomotive was slow to take, but eventually starting breathing with life.
“I take it this is your first time being in the cab of a steam engine, am I right?”
“Yes, sir, yes,” Fibulious nodded. His excitement was palpable and contagious, and lifted everyone’s spirits.
“Then let us go home, shall we?”
Rhubarb pulled a lever and the train began to move. Fibulious eagerly peered out the sides, with Rhubarb careful to keep a hold of his tattered shirt. After several minutes, Fibulious began to calm down, and stopped darting around the rather small engine cab.
“If you do not mind if I pry a bit, what ever made you decide to run away from home?”
Fibulious looked down, then away, which Rhubarb mistook for a shyness.
“If it is a sensitive subject for you...”
“Trouble... I got into trouble,” answered Fibulious, still not looking at him.
“What kind of trouble?”
Fibulious shook his head from side to side, and Rhubarb knew there wasn’t going to be anything else forthcoming on the subject, at least for the moment. So he decided to change the subject.
“Well, I wonder what time it is right now. My watch says 6:30. Is it still Saturday, I wonder?”
“I think it’s Sunday,” offered Fibulious.
“Sunday, why then ... we should be more than several hours in the future.”
“The future?”
Rhubarb forgot that young Fibulious had no knowledge of Columbus’ and his experiment. Explaining the situation was a bit of a conundrum.
“Well. You see, I am an inventor, and Columbus and I are performing a grand experiment, the likes of which mankind has never been witness to. In short, we are time-space travelers.”
Fibulious’ eyes went wide to the point of almost bulging out of their sockets.
“And, in reference to our time, you would appear to be from our future.”
“You mean you came from the past?”
Rhubarb was surprised by Fibulious comprehension of time, but was no less delighted by his enthusiasm.
“Why yes. So you being from our future makes you in some ways a future man.”
“A future man,” wondered Fibulious. “That sounds mighty fine.”
“You like that, do you? Well that is what I shall call you then, Fibulious. Futureman.”
Fibulious was beaming from ear to ear. “Wow, Mister Portrait, that’s awfully nice of you. I never had a nickname before.”
“Well, Futureman, I’m glad you like it.”
As their time device moved farther and farther away from the train yard, all three passengers rested content, looking forward to reaching the turntable so that they could start their trip in earnest. Thinking about what the future held, Rhubarb remembered his watch and decided he should wind it since he couldn’t remember the last time he had done so.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Time Train - Chapter 10
What or who will Rhubarb T. Porterhut and Columbus come across next?
___
The engine slowly drifted into the dark, forbidding train yard that bore a closer resemblance to a cemetery. Rhubarb T. Porterhut sat up and rubbed his eyes. He remembered drifting off for a second, but it couldn’t have been for long—and indeed it hadn’t been, if his pocket watch was correct. The trip back to Terre Haute should only have taken a few hours, and yet the sky was as black as pitch. It should have been only 4:47 in the afternoon.
The wheels of the train ground to a halt, the fuel expended. “How long could I have been out?” Rhubarb thought to himself. With the engine at a standstill, he decided to let Columbus out of his sack.
Columbus, also having dozed off, was taken aback at their current location, as he thought he would have wakened to the sight of a familiar train platform. Instead, it was dark and cold with no one living in sight. He quickly began shedding, knowing he would not be getting his steak dinner anytime soon.
“Perhaps we jumped ahead too far in time? But this could not be the Terre Haute of the future, could it?”
Columbus sniffed at the air, but could not pick up any of the scents he was familiar with, excepting the foul stench of burnt coal and sulfur in the distance.
“Well, Columbus. It looks as though we have taken a detour. Surely this is but a minor gaff in our trip home.”
Surveying their surroundings, Rhubarb hopped down from the cab, Columbus in tow. If they were ever going to return home, they would need to determine from where they were having to return home. And they would need to find more fuel, a task which their being in a train yard made more convenient.
As Rhubarb’s eyes adjusted, he could see that the darkness extended in all directions, such that only general shapes and forms could be made out. Alongside the track their chariot rested on were numerous train cars and engines of various makes and models, all old, all decrepit. It was easy to get lost as the train yard was like a maze, so Rhubarb meticulously kept track of where they had been.
“Caw, caw!” For a second, the night erupted as a shrill cry pierced the still air, and what must have been a raven departed for parts better suited to it. Rhubarb spun around to identify the direction, but it seemed as though it was everywhere at once, and Columbus crawled beneath his master’s tented legs for protection.
Trying his best to put on a brave face, Rhubarb nudged Columbus from between his legs, coaxing him forward. “Be brave, my stalwart companion. We must not give in to our delusions, for our fear is our greatest nemeses.”
When Rhubarb looked up, he thought he saw a shadow shift. Squinting, he couldn’t make out a thing. He leaned forward, feigning a step in the direction of the movement, which only saw Columbus back into him, causing both to stumble. The sound of the crash startled whatever it was that was hiding, and it darted out of its spot, its body hugging the carcasses of trains past. Rhubarb, meanwhile, struggled to his feet as he did a quick turn and sped off in the opposite direction. Columbus, in a panic, rolled over and took off in a random direction which turned out to be the same direction in which the shadow was presently headed.
Rhubarb, realizing he was one African Husky short, without stopping turned to look back and began to call for Columbus but was cut short by a pile of wood in front of him. Tumbling end over end like a circus acrobat, he managed to stop when the rules of physics prevented him from bonding with the side of a train. Gathering his senses, he checked himself to make sure nothing was damaged and headed off to look for Columbus.
“Columbus!” Nothing. “Coluuuuuuuumbus!” Still nothing. “Coluuu…”
A dainty “woof” resounded about 50 feet in front of him. Feeling his way through the night. He finally reached the origin of the “woof” and found Columbus sitting beside a new friend.
“I’m sorry for scaring you, mister. I found your doggy. He’s a nice doggy.” A little negro boy stroked a relieved and content Columbus.
“Why hello, young man. Why the devil are you here alone in this train yard?” While he called him “young man,” he was probably no more than eight or nine years of age. As Rhubarb extended his hand, the boy wiped his own on his dirty pants before returning the gesture.
“I ran way from home. I climbed on a train and it brought me here,” the boy sniffled. “But now I don’t know how to get home.”
“There, there, young man. We are lost as well, and trying to get home. Perhaps we can help you find your folks once we extricate ourselves from this dreadful locale. My name is Rhubarb T. Porterhut III, and this is my faithful companion, Columbus.”
“I met the doggy. Hello Mister Portrait. My name is Fibulious Robeson.”
Rhubarb drank the name in, absorbed it, then smiled in approval. “A fine name that is. A fine name indeed. Well, young Fibulious, mighty you help us by first directing us towards our carriage?”
Fibulious took Rhubarb by the hand and pulled them toward the time traveling train. He appeared to be quite familiar with the layout.
“If I may ask, how long has it been since you first arrived here?”
Fibulious stopped and counted on his fingers for a second. “I’m not sure. Maybe a week?”
Rhubarb couldn’t contain his astonishment. “A whole week on your own? How ever did you manage?”
“I packed a sandwich when I left. But when I ate it, I had to look for food. Sometimes the men bring the trains here to leave them, they gave me food.”
“And none of them took you to find your parents?”
“No, sir. They said the engine cab is no space for a little boy.” Rhubarb questioned their judgment concerning that statement, but the thought quickly subsided.
Fibulious came to a stop and pointed straight ahead. “There’s your train.” He let go of Rhubarb’s hand, his face aimed downward. “I understand if I can’t go with you.”
“Nonsense. Why our engine is as safe as ... safe as Columbus right here.” Rhubarb rubbed Columbus’ head. Columbus wanted to disagree, but couldn’t shake the hand that pet him.
The young boy was jubilant. “You mean I can go with you?”
“Why most assuredly. We shall see about reuniting you with your parents. But first, we will have to get out of here.”
___
The engine slowly drifted into the dark, forbidding train yard that bore a closer resemblance to a cemetery. Rhubarb T. Porterhut sat up and rubbed his eyes. He remembered drifting off for a second, but it couldn’t have been for long—and indeed it hadn’t been, if his pocket watch was correct. The trip back to Terre Haute should only have taken a few hours, and yet the sky was as black as pitch. It should have been only 4:47 in the afternoon.
The wheels of the train ground to a halt, the fuel expended. “How long could I have been out?” Rhubarb thought to himself. With the engine at a standstill, he decided to let Columbus out of his sack.
Columbus, also having dozed off, was taken aback at their current location, as he thought he would have wakened to the sight of a familiar train platform. Instead, it was dark and cold with no one living in sight. He quickly began shedding, knowing he would not be getting his steak dinner anytime soon.
“Perhaps we jumped ahead too far in time? But this could not be the Terre Haute of the future, could it?”
Columbus sniffed at the air, but could not pick up any of the scents he was familiar with, excepting the foul stench of burnt coal and sulfur in the distance.
“Well, Columbus. It looks as though we have taken a detour. Surely this is but a minor gaff in our trip home.”
Surveying their surroundings, Rhubarb hopped down from the cab, Columbus in tow. If they were ever going to return home, they would need to determine from where they were having to return home. And they would need to find more fuel, a task which their being in a train yard made more convenient.
As Rhubarb’s eyes adjusted, he could see that the darkness extended in all directions, such that only general shapes and forms could be made out. Alongside the track their chariot rested on were numerous train cars and engines of various makes and models, all old, all decrepit. It was easy to get lost as the train yard was like a maze, so Rhubarb meticulously kept track of where they had been.
“Caw, caw!” For a second, the night erupted as a shrill cry pierced the still air, and what must have been a raven departed for parts better suited to it. Rhubarb spun around to identify the direction, but it seemed as though it was everywhere at once, and Columbus crawled beneath his master’s tented legs for protection.
Trying his best to put on a brave face, Rhubarb nudged Columbus from between his legs, coaxing him forward. “Be brave, my stalwart companion. We must not give in to our delusions, for our fear is our greatest nemeses.”
When Rhubarb looked up, he thought he saw a shadow shift. Squinting, he couldn’t make out a thing. He leaned forward, feigning a step in the direction of the movement, which only saw Columbus back into him, causing both to stumble. The sound of the crash startled whatever it was that was hiding, and it darted out of its spot, its body hugging the carcasses of trains past. Rhubarb, meanwhile, struggled to his feet as he did a quick turn and sped off in the opposite direction. Columbus, in a panic, rolled over and took off in a random direction which turned out to be the same direction in which the shadow was presently headed.
Rhubarb, realizing he was one African Husky short, without stopping turned to look back and began to call for Columbus but was cut short by a pile of wood in front of him. Tumbling end over end like a circus acrobat, he managed to stop when the rules of physics prevented him from bonding with the side of a train. Gathering his senses, he checked himself to make sure nothing was damaged and headed off to look for Columbus.
“Columbus!” Nothing. “Coluuuuuuuumbus!” Still nothing. “Coluuu…”
A dainty “woof” resounded about 50 feet in front of him. Feeling his way through the night. He finally reached the origin of the “woof” and found Columbus sitting beside a new friend.
“I’m sorry for scaring you, mister. I found your doggy. He’s a nice doggy.” A little negro boy stroked a relieved and content Columbus.
“Why hello, young man. Why the devil are you here alone in this train yard?” While he called him “young man,” he was probably no more than eight or nine years of age. As Rhubarb extended his hand, the boy wiped his own on his dirty pants before returning the gesture.
“I ran way from home. I climbed on a train and it brought me here,” the boy sniffled. “But now I don’t know how to get home.”
“There, there, young man. We are lost as well, and trying to get home. Perhaps we can help you find your folks once we extricate ourselves from this dreadful locale. My name is Rhubarb T. Porterhut III, and this is my faithful companion, Columbus.”
“I met the doggy. Hello Mister Portrait. My name is Fibulious Robeson.”
Rhubarb drank the name in, absorbed it, then smiled in approval. “A fine name that is. A fine name indeed. Well, young Fibulious, mighty you help us by first directing us towards our carriage?”
Fibulious took Rhubarb by the hand and pulled them toward the time traveling train. He appeared to be quite familiar with the layout.
“If I may ask, how long has it been since you first arrived here?”
Fibulious stopped and counted on his fingers for a second. “I’m not sure. Maybe a week?”
Rhubarb couldn’t contain his astonishment. “A whole week on your own? How ever did you manage?”
“I packed a sandwich when I left. But when I ate it, I had to look for food. Sometimes the men bring the trains here to leave them, they gave me food.”
“And none of them took you to find your parents?”
“No, sir. They said the engine cab is no space for a little boy.” Rhubarb questioned their judgment concerning that statement, but the thought quickly subsided.
Fibulious came to a stop and pointed straight ahead. “There’s your train.” He let go of Rhubarb’s hand, his face aimed downward. “I understand if I can’t go with you.”
“Nonsense. Why our engine is as safe as ... safe as Columbus right here.” Rhubarb rubbed Columbus’ head. Columbus wanted to disagree, but couldn’t shake the hand that pet him.
The young boy was jubilant. “You mean I can go with you?”
“Why most assuredly. We shall see about reuniting you with your parents. But first, we will have to get out of here.”
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Time Train - Chapter 9
Rhubarb and Columbus are ready to return home, but perhaps it won't be so easy.
___
It was near noon as Rhubarb T. Porterhut and Columbus approached the station. The biscuits they had purchased from the general store were enough to tide them over for the moment, but they still looked forward to the feast Florentine would have prepared for them once they returned home.
“I believe we should be able to manage the rest of the way,” remarked Rhubarb, addressing Columbus who silently kept pace beside him. Columbus appreciated the extended amount of walking he was allowed knowing that he would most likely be occupying the back sack again once they were back on board the train.
A large bubble of smoke bursting in the near distant sky caught Rhubarb’s attention, and as they neared the station he could make out the time traveling locomotive pulling alongside the station platform. Black smoke was pouring out from the smokestack obscuring most of the rather large machine, and on the platform stood the stationmaster he had talked to earlier, waving his cap at whoever was operating it.
“Hello again,” yelled Rhubarb as soon as he was within earshot. “I see that our transportation is prepared as per our agreement.”
For the first time the stationmaster got a good look at Columbus, who had been in Rhubarb’s back sack they whole time of their conversation. With widened eyes, he absorbed the image of the patchy dog that seemed like such a contradiction to him.
“I thought you two would’ve been back sooner. Robby here’s got yer train all set up. I trust you found something to eat while you were touring our fair town?”
“Yes, we managed some biscuits, but we are quite prepared to return home now.”
Columbus hesitated for a second as he listened to Rhubarb speak. While he looked forward to getting home to his warm, plush bed which negated his lack of fur, he wished he could have a few minutes more before he was forced back into his sack.
“Well then, I guess that would just ‘bout settle things.” The stationmaster’s voice went up at the end, and he just stood there looking at Rhubarb, but not looking, as he tapped his foot to the rhythm of a jig he couldn’t dance to. When Rhubarb just stood and stared in return, the station master coughed.
“Bless you. Was that a cough? Or a sneeze?”
“Uh, neither. You know it was quite a bit of work moving that locomotive. Quite a bit of work.”
Rhubarb finally took the hint, and following a brief shudder he took out his wallet.
“Ah. Right, we agreed upon compensation. How much did we agree upon? Never mind, let me see what I have.”
But when Rhubarb looked in his wallet, he was stunned―for where once was ten one dollar bills, there were none. His mind scrambled for an answer, for some reasoning as to what had happened to the money.
“Now if yer ready to leave, we need to get you on out of here. We’ve got more trains coming in from Springfield pretty soon.”
Columbus, picking up on the gravity of the situation, began to shed with concern.
Rhubarb was frozen and could barely muster up a word, before finally exhaling. “The store owner... I must have… forgotten my change.”
“Now no excuses, son, but do you have the money or not? ‘Cause I will have Robby pull the engine back if you don’t.”
In a flash, Columbus thought about his bed, the warm fireplace, and Florentine serving him beef for dinner. With all the resolve he could stir up, he dropped one last clump of fur and darted off the platform for the train. He yelped at Rhubarb who understood the plan.
“Wait for me, Columbus,” Rhubarb yelled, as he dashed off the platform leaving the stunned stationmaster standing there like a rare hibiscus pine log in a bog.
Columbus leapt onto the engine first, startling the young man operating the controls. It took Rhubarb slightly longer to climb aboard, but once on, he turned to the young man and bowed.
“I detest violence, so would you be so kind as to extricate yourself?”
The man, with no fight and only a little more interest, bowed politely in return, then stiffly turned and hopped off.
“Quickly, Columbus. Unfortunately we must hasten our departure, so prepare yourself.”
Columbus understood what that meant, and reluctantly crawled inside the sack that Rhubarb had tossed onto the cab floor. Meanwhile Rhubarb threw some levers, turned the time knob to “FUTURE,” and released the break. The train slowly lurched forward and began to depart the station.
“That was a close call, was it not? Good work, Columbus. Tonight I shall reward you with the bigger steak.”
He picked up the sack overflowing with the smiling Columbus, and slung it over his shoulder. After shoveling in some more coal, Rhubarb leaned against the cab wall and started to relax. He could see the stationmaster very gradually getting smaller as he stared back at them, unmoved, from the platform. Rhubarb hated leaving things the way he did, but time waited for no man except him, except when they weren’t actually in the time traversing device. As such it was imperative to get into the machine where time was once more subject to their will. At least that was what Rhubarb thought to himself, as he looked forward to getting home and telling Florentine of their narrow escape over dinner.
___
It was near noon as Rhubarb T. Porterhut and Columbus approached the station. The biscuits they had purchased from the general store were enough to tide them over for the moment, but they still looked forward to the feast Florentine would have prepared for them once they returned home.
“I believe we should be able to manage the rest of the way,” remarked Rhubarb, addressing Columbus who silently kept pace beside him. Columbus appreciated the extended amount of walking he was allowed knowing that he would most likely be occupying the back sack again once they were back on board the train.
A large bubble of smoke bursting in the near distant sky caught Rhubarb’s attention, and as they neared the station he could make out the time traveling locomotive pulling alongside the station platform. Black smoke was pouring out from the smokestack obscuring most of the rather large machine, and on the platform stood the stationmaster he had talked to earlier, waving his cap at whoever was operating it.
“Hello again,” yelled Rhubarb as soon as he was within earshot. “I see that our transportation is prepared as per our agreement.”
For the first time the stationmaster got a good look at Columbus, who had been in Rhubarb’s back sack they whole time of their conversation. With widened eyes, he absorbed the image of the patchy dog that seemed like such a contradiction to him.
“I thought you two would’ve been back sooner. Robby here’s got yer train all set up. I trust you found something to eat while you were touring our fair town?”
“Yes, we managed some biscuits, but we are quite prepared to return home now.”
Columbus hesitated for a second as he listened to Rhubarb speak. While he looked forward to getting home to his warm, plush bed which negated his lack of fur, he wished he could have a few minutes more before he was forced back into his sack.
“Well then, I guess that would just ‘bout settle things.” The stationmaster’s voice went up at the end, and he just stood there looking at Rhubarb, but not looking, as he tapped his foot to the rhythm of a jig he couldn’t dance to. When Rhubarb just stood and stared in return, the station master coughed.
“Bless you. Was that a cough? Or a sneeze?”
“Uh, neither. You know it was quite a bit of work moving that locomotive. Quite a bit of work.”
Rhubarb finally took the hint, and following a brief shudder he took out his wallet.
“Ah. Right, we agreed upon compensation. How much did we agree upon? Never mind, let me see what I have.”
But when Rhubarb looked in his wallet, he was stunned―for where once was ten one dollar bills, there were none. His mind scrambled for an answer, for some reasoning as to what had happened to the money.
“Now if yer ready to leave, we need to get you on out of here. We’ve got more trains coming in from Springfield pretty soon.”
Columbus, picking up on the gravity of the situation, began to shed with concern.
Rhubarb was frozen and could barely muster up a word, before finally exhaling. “The store owner... I must have… forgotten my change.”
“Now no excuses, son, but do you have the money or not? ‘Cause I will have Robby pull the engine back if you don’t.”
In a flash, Columbus thought about his bed, the warm fireplace, and Florentine serving him beef for dinner. With all the resolve he could stir up, he dropped one last clump of fur and darted off the platform for the train. He yelped at Rhubarb who understood the plan.
“Wait for me, Columbus,” Rhubarb yelled, as he dashed off the platform leaving the stunned stationmaster standing there like a rare hibiscus pine log in a bog.
Columbus leapt onto the engine first, startling the young man operating the controls. It took Rhubarb slightly longer to climb aboard, but once on, he turned to the young man and bowed.
“I detest violence, so would you be so kind as to extricate yourself?”
The man, with no fight and only a little more interest, bowed politely in return, then stiffly turned and hopped off.
“Quickly, Columbus. Unfortunately we must hasten our departure, so prepare yourself.”
Columbus understood what that meant, and reluctantly crawled inside the sack that Rhubarb had tossed onto the cab floor. Meanwhile Rhubarb threw some levers, turned the time knob to “FUTURE,” and released the break. The train slowly lurched forward and began to depart the station.
“That was a close call, was it not? Good work, Columbus. Tonight I shall reward you with the bigger steak.”
He picked up the sack overflowing with the smiling Columbus, and slung it over his shoulder. After shoveling in some more coal, Rhubarb leaned against the cab wall and started to relax. He could see the stationmaster very gradually getting smaller as he stared back at them, unmoved, from the platform. Rhubarb hated leaving things the way he did, but time waited for no man except him, except when they weren’t actually in the time traversing device. As such it was imperative to get into the machine where time was once more subject to their will. At least that was what Rhubarb thought to himself, as he looked forward to getting home and telling Florentine of their narrow escape over dinner.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Time Train - Chapter 8
Rhubarb and Columbus find themselves stranded and hunger-stricken in an unfamiliar town.
___
The sun glared down on Rhubarb T. Porterhut and his ever present hound-in-waiting, Columbus, as they shambled through town looking for some place where they could stave off their appetite. Although it was nearly noon, Winter’s chilly breath ensured a crisp, encompassing air. Since it was too late for breakfast but too early for supper, there were not many food options available save for the general store or the bar, the latter of which Rhubarb hoped to avoid.
Rhubarb had been walking around for less than several minutes when he felt an aching in his back and shoulders. At first attributing the pain to hunger and old age, he finally settled upon releasing Columbus from his confinement, hoping not to exacerbate his health issues any further. Columbus, for his part, was overjoyed at being able to walk on his own four feet, rather than being attached to his master’s back, so to speak.
“I am famished, Columbus, but it looks as though we picked a dilly of a place to stop. Perhaps we will have better luck the next street over.” But Columbus could answer not—he was simply too hungry to even sigh.
After several minutes of navigating the quiet streets of downtown Decatur, the two hungry travelers found themselves in front of a cluttered, but promising general store. And as if on a breeze, both Rhubarb and Columbus wafted in through the doors.
The store was filled to the rafters, with odd knickknacks and thingamabobs. Not a corner was empty, and not a surface unoccupied. The thick layers of dust belied the business of the establishment.
“Excuse me, sir,” Rhubarb addressed the store manager, “but what might I ask do you have in the way of victuals? For my companion and I are in the midst of our travels and are in need of some sustenance.”
The manager, taking the unlikely pair for more vagrants, was about to shoo them out of the store until Rhubarb produced his billfold, whereupon the manager eschewed his stuffy demeanor for opportunity. The pathetic huckster launched into a routine that would embarrass the simplest of charlatans, and began working to reel in Rhubarb.
“Are you in luck then, as you’ll find no finer, no better stocked establishment than Finny’s Country Store. Our store offers the finest in tools, supplies, and ornaments with which to embellish your house and home, or ... wherever you might reside. And I’ll challenge you to name any other store in the next hundred, nay, five hundred miles that can present to you a better price. Why ask and ye shall receive, and if it exists under the heavens it will surely exist in here. My name is Finny and I am glad to know you.”
“I have no mind for tools or challenges ... but what have you in terms of food?”
Finny’s mind was spinning with ways to make a sale. In reality, he didn’t have much food stock except for a small batch of stale day-old biscuits.
“Well today is your day, my lad, as we just baked a batch of our famous biscuits this morning. Fresh as can be, and my are they tasty.” Finny gestured toward a stack of pale biscuits under glass.
The thought of biscuits was not particularly appetizing to Rhubarb. However Columbus, had he any saliva left, would have been salivating. Instead he resorted to kind of a dry heave akin to that act that dogs perform before vomiting.
“Might you have anything else perhaps? Pemmican, or some such?”
“Why, these biscuits are quite good, and seeing as how you’re the twentieth ... no, make that the twenty-fifth customer today to come in and inquire of them, I can cut you deal,” The manager emphasized and lingered on the last three of his words, each one separately.
Since they had spent the majority of their time wandering, the engine was near ready. Needing to hurry back to the train platform, Rhubarb did not wish to quibble. “Fine, fine, I will take the biscuits,” and he absent-mindedly handed the store manager some bills.
Stifling his joy, Finny snatched the money and stuffed it into his pants pocket without counting. Hoping to usher his customers out before they had enough time to rethink the transaction, Finny hurriedly dumped the remaining biscuits into a sack.
“And one last thing. Do you have a jug? I’ll need to fetch some water before I go.”
“Yes, yes, over there, in the corner. Grab any jug you like. I’ll throw it in for free.” When Rhubarb turned his back, the store owner smiled to himself.
Handing the sack of biscuits over to Rhubarb, Finny just about shoved them out the door while pointing towards a nearby water pump. As Finny disappeared back into his cave of a store, Rhubarb thought he heard him laughing.
“Well, Columbus, we have what we came for. First the water, then a biscuit.”
As Rhubarb pumped the water into the jug, Columbus looked up at him with soulful eyes. In brief flash of understanding, Rhubarb removed the jug and allowed Columbus to quench his thirst. After a minute or two of furious lapping, Rhubarb handed a biscuit to his furless friend. And for a moment, Columbus was the happiest he had been in a long time.
Even Rhubarb had to admit that, while the biscuit was the furthest thing he could imagine from being delicious, it filled an emptiness that needed filling at the time. With their hour nearly up, both adventurers headed back toward the station with renewed vigor.
___
The sun glared down on Rhubarb T. Porterhut and his ever present hound-in-waiting, Columbus, as they shambled through town looking for some place where they could stave off their appetite. Although it was nearly noon, Winter’s chilly breath ensured a crisp, encompassing air. Since it was too late for breakfast but too early for supper, there were not many food options available save for the general store or the bar, the latter of which Rhubarb hoped to avoid.
Rhubarb had been walking around for less than several minutes when he felt an aching in his back and shoulders. At first attributing the pain to hunger and old age, he finally settled upon releasing Columbus from his confinement, hoping not to exacerbate his health issues any further. Columbus, for his part, was overjoyed at being able to walk on his own four feet, rather than being attached to his master’s back, so to speak.
“I am famished, Columbus, but it looks as though we picked a dilly of a place to stop. Perhaps we will have better luck the next street over.” But Columbus could answer not—he was simply too hungry to even sigh.
After several minutes of navigating the quiet streets of downtown Decatur, the two hungry travelers found themselves in front of a cluttered, but promising general store. And as if on a breeze, both Rhubarb and Columbus wafted in through the doors.
The store was filled to the rafters, with odd knickknacks and thingamabobs. Not a corner was empty, and not a surface unoccupied. The thick layers of dust belied the business of the establishment.
“Excuse me, sir,” Rhubarb addressed the store manager, “but what might I ask do you have in the way of victuals? For my companion and I are in the midst of our travels and are in need of some sustenance.”
The manager, taking the unlikely pair for more vagrants, was about to shoo them out of the store until Rhubarb produced his billfold, whereupon the manager eschewed his stuffy demeanor for opportunity. The pathetic huckster launched into a routine that would embarrass the simplest of charlatans, and began working to reel in Rhubarb.
“Are you in luck then, as you’ll find no finer, no better stocked establishment than Finny’s Country Store. Our store offers the finest in tools, supplies, and ornaments with which to embellish your house and home, or ... wherever you might reside. And I’ll challenge you to name any other store in the next hundred, nay, five hundred miles that can present to you a better price. Why ask and ye shall receive, and if it exists under the heavens it will surely exist in here. My name is Finny and I am glad to know you.”
“I have no mind for tools or challenges ... but what have you in terms of food?”
Finny’s mind was spinning with ways to make a sale. In reality, he didn’t have much food stock except for a small batch of stale day-old biscuits.
“Well today is your day, my lad, as we just baked a batch of our famous biscuits this morning. Fresh as can be, and my are they tasty.” Finny gestured toward a stack of pale biscuits under glass.
The thought of biscuits was not particularly appetizing to Rhubarb. However Columbus, had he any saliva left, would have been salivating. Instead he resorted to kind of a dry heave akin to that act that dogs perform before vomiting.
“Might you have anything else perhaps? Pemmican, or some such?”
“Why, these biscuits are quite good, and seeing as how you’re the twentieth ... no, make that the twenty-fifth customer today to come in and inquire of them, I can cut you deal,” The manager emphasized and lingered on the last three of his words, each one separately.
Since they had spent the majority of their time wandering, the engine was near ready. Needing to hurry back to the train platform, Rhubarb did not wish to quibble. “Fine, fine, I will take the biscuits,” and he absent-mindedly handed the store manager some bills.
Stifling his joy, Finny snatched the money and stuffed it into his pants pocket without counting. Hoping to usher his customers out before they had enough time to rethink the transaction, Finny hurriedly dumped the remaining biscuits into a sack.
“And one last thing. Do you have a jug? I’ll need to fetch some water before I go.”
“Yes, yes, over there, in the corner. Grab any jug you like. I’ll throw it in for free.” When Rhubarb turned his back, the store owner smiled to himself.
Handing the sack of biscuits over to Rhubarb, Finny just about shoved them out the door while pointing towards a nearby water pump. As Finny disappeared back into his cave of a store, Rhubarb thought he heard him laughing.
“Well, Columbus, we have what we came for. First the water, then a biscuit.”
As Rhubarb pumped the water into the jug, Columbus looked up at him with soulful eyes. In brief flash of understanding, Rhubarb removed the jug and allowed Columbus to quench his thirst. After a minute or two of furious lapping, Rhubarb handed a biscuit to his furless friend. And for a moment, Columbus was the happiest he had been in a long time.
Even Rhubarb had to admit that, while the biscuit was the furthest thing he could imagine from being delicious, it filled an emptiness that needed filling at the time. With their hour nearly up, both adventurers headed back toward the station with renewed vigor.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Time Train - Chapter 7
Here's a little change of pace in the ongoing saga of "Time Train."
___
Florentine Lily Porterhut sat in her chair in the salon, quietly knitting a sleeve to a sweater she would never finish. One day, she thought, she vowed to learn how to knit a proper collar. Next to her on a small end table sat the remains to many aborted articles of clothing: a mitten without a thumb, an open-toed sock that was more an elbow warmer, and something that looked like a potholder.
Florentine often filled the days with such trivialities. Her marriage to a young scientific wunderkind afforded her a life of luxury and relaxation. While her husband was busy making science, she would sit in the salon participating in one of her many loosely kept hobbies. There was the knitting, of course, but before that she had studied impressionist painting, the piano, and even the bandalore, a sort of precursor to the yo-yos of later days. Many hours she wondered at the strange device that rode up and down the string.
But secretly, both to Rhubarb and to herself, she dreamt of a life of adventure. In her heart of hearts, just once, she wished that her husband would ask her along on one of his scientific outings. She had no understanding of the sciences, in fact almost no inclination toward them at all, but still she wanted to be a part of something. While she also took kindly to Rhubarb’s dog, Columbus, she envied him something fierce for his ability to eagerly embrace her husband’s visions.
During her activities, her mind often wandered to thinking about where and what Rhubarb and Columbus were doing. And only recently did she have to wonder when as well. Perhaps her husband had gone back all the way to the time of dinosaurs, which seemed to be one of the few scientific topics in which she was interested. Or maybe he had gone into future to a time when ... when perhaps no person was still living. Such morbidity annoyed her and reminded her of why she disliked contemplating the very things her husband often spoke about in their bed. No matter, for as long as Rhubarb and Columbus were home promptly for supper, she would not worry.
“Bong! Bong!” the grandmother clock chimed from the hallway, breaking Florentine from her reverie.
“My, my. Two o’clock already? Where does the time go?” As she rose from her chair she added the five-and-a-half-foot-long sleeve to her pile of discarded knittings. “I’d better get to the butcher. Rhubarb is bound to be starving upon his return, and today would be a good day for a fine supper.”
Florentine put on her coat and stepped into the hallway, passing the grandmother clock and one of the few paintings she had been proud enough of displaying in her home. It was of a bowl of fruit and unfinished, such that, to other people, it appeared as the homely visage of a rather aged woman whose head was both balding and decapitated. Reaching for the door knob, Florentine took one last glance back at the piece of sleeve she had made. “One day,” she thought, “One day.”
___
Florentine Lily Porterhut sat in her chair in the salon, quietly knitting a sleeve to a sweater she would never finish. One day, she thought, she vowed to learn how to knit a proper collar. Next to her on a small end table sat the remains to many aborted articles of clothing: a mitten without a thumb, an open-toed sock that was more an elbow warmer, and something that looked like a potholder.
Florentine often filled the days with such trivialities. Her marriage to a young scientific wunderkind afforded her a life of luxury and relaxation. While her husband was busy making science, she would sit in the salon participating in one of her many loosely kept hobbies. There was the knitting, of course, but before that she had studied impressionist painting, the piano, and even the bandalore, a sort of precursor to the yo-yos of later days. Many hours she wondered at the strange device that rode up and down the string.
But secretly, both to Rhubarb and to herself, she dreamt of a life of adventure. In her heart of hearts, just once, she wished that her husband would ask her along on one of his scientific outings. She had no understanding of the sciences, in fact almost no inclination toward them at all, but still she wanted to be a part of something. While she also took kindly to Rhubarb’s dog, Columbus, she envied him something fierce for his ability to eagerly embrace her husband’s visions.
During her activities, her mind often wandered to thinking about where and what Rhubarb and Columbus were doing. And only recently did she have to wonder when as well. Perhaps her husband had gone back all the way to the time of dinosaurs, which seemed to be one of the few scientific topics in which she was interested. Or maybe he had gone into future to a time when ... when perhaps no person was still living. Such morbidity annoyed her and reminded her of why she disliked contemplating the very things her husband often spoke about in their bed. No matter, for as long as Rhubarb and Columbus were home promptly for supper, she would not worry.
“Bong! Bong!” the grandmother clock chimed from the hallway, breaking Florentine from her reverie.
“My, my. Two o’clock already? Where does the time go?” As she rose from her chair she added the five-and-a-half-foot-long sleeve to her pile of discarded knittings. “I’d better get to the butcher. Rhubarb is bound to be starving upon his return, and today would be a good day for a fine supper.”
Florentine put on her coat and stepped into the hallway, passing the grandmother clock and one of the few paintings she had been proud enough of displaying in her home. It was of a bowl of fruit and unfinished, such that, to other people, it appeared as the homely visage of a rather aged woman whose head was both balding and decapitated. Reaching for the door knob, Florentine took one last glance back at the piece of sleeve she had made. “One day,” she thought, “One day.”
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Time Train - Chapter 6
With hunger setting in, what are Rhubarb T. Porterhut and Columbus to do?
___
As Rhubarb T. Porterhut rejoiced his latest achievement, a verbal reminder alerted him to his hunger. It had been about six hours since he had broken fast, and he was in need of nourishment if he was to venture on. Columbus had been hungry for quite a while now, having been whisked away midway through his morning meal, but his constant belly rumblings went unnoticed by Rhubarb who eventually mistook them for his own.
Unsure of how deep into the past they would travel, Rhubarb had neglected to ask his dear wife Florentine to pack them a modest luncheon. If they could only head back now, they might be able to make it home in time for supper.
“What say you, Columbus? Should we head back to Florentine and recount our adventure over some aged beef?”
Slightly dizzy from the hunger, Columbus managed a small yip before cozying down into his sack.
“Well, good sir,” Rhubarb addressed the stationmaster, “much thanks for hospitality but it is best that we leave now so that we return home in a timely fashion.”
The stationmaster huffed a little sigh. There was not much else he could really do.
“If that be best, then on yer way you go. Godspeed, and I hope you enjoyed your stay in Decatur, albeit brief.”
Rhubarb turned to hop off the platform, but hesitated as he stared at his locomotive. For the first time in a long time he seemed perplexed, which only alarmed the droopy Columbus more. The general direction of the time traversing engine had no dictate on when they could end up in time, but it did have a bearing on where they would end up in space. Irregardless of time, if they were to make it back to Terre Haute, they would have to head in the opposite direction. Rhubarb made a slow about-face to the stationmaster who had barely moved an inch since their arrival.
“Excuse me again, good sir, but I would like to ask one last favor of you. My colleague and I need to head in a westerly direction, so would you be so kind as to help us turn our transport so that it faces in the opposite way?”
At such a large proposition, the stationmaster did not bat an eye, but just stood there as if weighing the decision, much like a frog on a lily pad about to go bottoms over. After what seemed like an eternity but was actually 2.3 seconds, the stationmaster answered.
“I suppose we might be able to manage something, but it may take some time. We have another train coming through her’ in an hour, so we’ll need to get it off the track, but in the meantime we can probably have yer engine righted.”
“An excellent idea, splendid,” answered Rhubarb, who was genuinely pleased by the solution. “Do you think you could manage that on your own? I only ask as I am famished, and if we are to say here longer, I must partake of a light meal before continuing our journey.”
Nonplussed, the stationmaster removed the hat from his balding scalp and scratched his head. “Reckon I could manage. A bit unusual, but…”
“I can compensate you, of course,” interjected Rhubarb, who was now largely thinking with his stomach and not his brain. Columbus was also in full agreement, now yowling and shedding furiously.
“Sure, sure. Just head on into town, and in ‘bout an hour we’ll have this whole thing worked out then.” There was a hint of eagerness in the stationmaster’s voice. He, too, was starting to feel the hunger, and he wanted to usher this strange man and his dog off the platform as soon as possible so that he could attend to his bread sandwich.
Rhubarb turned serious for a moment, then grabbed hold of the stationmaster. “There is just one thing you should know. Do not touch the dial marked ‘PAST/FUTURE.’” Rhubarb relaxed his face and his grip slightly before continuing. “It is nothing bad. There is no need to worry over it. But do not touch it.”
The stationmaster only nodded, and Rhubarb released his grip. Now walking away from the platform and towards the city, he turned back once more to look at his creation. He heard the stationmaster whistle and a young man ran out. Rhubarb could see the stationmaster grab hold of the young man and animatedly instruct him of what he was to do. He imagined the young man’s name was “Billy,” or “Tommy,” or some other double consonant, long “E” name. His hunger clouded his mind, and he wondered what his beloved wife Florentine was doing.
___
As Rhubarb T. Porterhut rejoiced his latest achievement, a verbal reminder alerted him to his hunger. It had been about six hours since he had broken fast, and he was in need of nourishment if he was to venture on. Columbus had been hungry for quite a while now, having been whisked away midway through his morning meal, but his constant belly rumblings went unnoticed by Rhubarb who eventually mistook them for his own.
Unsure of how deep into the past they would travel, Rhubarb had neglected to ask his dear wife Florentine to pack them a modest luncheon. If they could only head back now, they might be able to make it home in time for supper.
“What say you, Columbus? Should we head back to Florentine and recount our adventure over some aged beef?”
Slightly dizzy from the hunger, Columbus managed a small yip before cozying down into his sack.
“Well, good sir,” Rhubarb addressed the stationmaster, “much thanks for hospitality but it is best that we leave now so that we return home in a timely fashion.”
The stationmaster huffed a little sigh. There was not much else he could really do.
“If that be best, then on yer way you go. Godspeed, and I hope you enjoyed your stay in Decatur, albeit brief.”
Rhubarb turned to hop off the platform, but hesitated as he stared at his locomotive. For the first time in a long time he seemed perplexed, which only alarmed the droopy Columbus more. The general direction of the time traversing engine had no dictate on when they could end up in time, but it did have a bearing on where they would end up in space. Irregardless of time, if they were to make it back to Terre Haute, they would have to head in the opposite direction. Rhubarb made a slow about-face to the stationmaster who had barely moved an inch since their arrival.
“Excuse me again, good sir, but I would like to ask one last favor of you. My colleague and I need to head in a westerly direction, so would you be so kind as to help us turn our transport so that it faces in the opposite way?”
At such a large proposition, the stationmaster did not bat an eye, but just stood there as if weighing the decision, much like a frog on a lily pad about to go bottoms over. After what seemed like an eternity but was actually 2.3 seconds, the stationmaster answered.
“I suppose we might be able to manage something, but it may take some time. We have another train coming through her’ in an hour, so we’ll need to get it off the track, but in the meantime we can probably have yer engine righted.”
“An excellent idea, splendid,” answered Rhubarb, who was genuinely pleased by the solution. “Do you think you could manage that on your own? I only ask as I am famished, and if we are to say here longer, I must partake of a light meal before continuing our journey.”
Nonplussed, the stationmaster removed the hat from his balding scalp and scratched his head. “Reckon I could manage. A bit unusual, but…”
“I can compensate you, of course,” interjected Rhubarb, who was now largely thinking with his stomach and not his brain. Columbus was also in full agreement, now yowling and shedding furiously.
“Sure, sure. Just head on into town, and in ‘bout an hour we’ll have this whole thing worked out then.” There was a hint of eagerness in the stationmaster’s voice. He, too, was starting to feel the hunger, and he wanted to usher this strange man and his dog off the platform as soon as possible so that he could attend to his bread sandwich.
Rhubarb turned serious for a moment, then grabbed hold of the stationmaster. “There is just one thing you should know. Do not touch the dial marked ‘PAST/FUTURE.’” Rhubarb relaxed his face and his grip slightly before continuing. “It is nothing bad. There is no need to worry over it. But do not touch it.”
The stationmaster only nodded, and Rhubarb released his grip. Now walking away from the platform and towards the city, he turned back once more to look at his creation. He heard the stationmaster whistle and a young man ran out. Rhubarb could see the stationmaster grab hold of the young man and animatedly instruct him of what he was to do. He imagined the young man’s name was “Billy,” or “Tommy,” or some other double consonant, long “E” name. His hunger clouded his mind, and he wondered what his beloved wife Florentine was doing.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Time Train - Chapter 5
When are Rhubarb T. Porterhut and his opposite of hirsute dog, Columbus? Find out right now, in this latest chapter of "Time Train."
___
Rhubarb T. Porterhut hopped to his feet. “I must have drifted off,” he thought to himself as he gathered his senses. He checked his pocket watch which indicated that it was a quarter till noon.
Meanwhile Columbus was thankful that he was no longer his master’s pillow, and stretched what little he could stretch in his sack. Although the position had been uncomfortable, he found the overall situation pleasant as he was free from being a conversation partner, and was in fact able to catch some sleep and finish his dream.
“What is this? Where could we be now? When is now?”
Rhubarb was frantic, and began to flail his arms like a windmill. He peaked out of the cabin to see a platform slowly approaching them from the distance. As they got closer he pulled the brake and jumped out.
“Hellooooo! Hello, I say! Is there anybody here?”
A gentleman stepped out to the platform, dressed not unlike the stationmaster back in Terre Haute. He eyed the situation warily before speaking.
“Wasn’t expecting any shipments this early in the day. Not that it looks like yer carrying anything anyhow. How might I be of service?”
Rhubarb tried to jump onto the platform but didn’t quite make it. Unfazed, he simply went around the platform until he found a good foothold so that he could climb up. The same couldn’t be said for Columbus who took the brunt of the fall. Luckily his lack of hair made it easier for him to dust himself off, if only he could manage such a thing.
The stationmaster simply stood there and stared, which Rhubarb interpreted as shock at seeing a man and his dog, both of whom had just arrived from the future. Once face to face with the stationmaster, he politely dusted himself off. He felt an urge to grab the man by his coveralls, but not wanting to add to his surprise, instead extended his gloved hand.
“Good day, sir. When, might I ask, do we find ourselves this day?”
The stationmaster still unsure of all that was unfolding before him, thought twice about taking the unfamiliar man’s hand. “Why yer in Decatur.”
“Decatur, Illinois,” thought Rhubarb. “Why we traveled nearly a hundred miles.”
“Well, what time is it, good sir?”
The stationmaster took his time with this question. He looked up at the sky; then at the locomotive; then at the dog on Rhubarb’s back; and finally at Rhubarb.
“It’s about 10:45, in the morning.”
“And what is today’s date, if you wouldn’t mind?”
“November sixth, 1897.”
An hour. They had traveled a hundred miles for nearly five hours to arrive an hour in the past.
“Huzzah! Columbus, we have made it! Our trip was not in vain!”
Rhubarb danced around the platform with Columbus, the bewildered stationmaster the only audience. They had traveled long and far indeed, but Rhubarb was too excited to ponder the consequences or the question: Would he ever make it back to his darling wife, Florentine?
___
Rhubarb T. Porterhut hopped to his feet. “I must have drifted off,” he thought to himself as he gathered his senses. He checked his pocket watch which indicated that it was a quarter till noon.
Meanwhile Columbus was thankful that he was no longer his master’s pillow, and stretched what little he could stretch in his sack. Although the position had been uncomfortable, he found the overall situation pleasant as he was free from being a conversation partner, and was in fact able to catch some sleep and finish his dream.
“What is this? Where could we be now? When is now?”
Rhubarb was frantic, and began to flail his arms like a windmill. He peaked out of the cabin to see a platform slowly approaching them from the distance. As they got closer he pulled the brake and jumped out.
“Hellooooo! Hello, I say! Is there anybody here?”
A gentleman stepped out to the platform, dressed not unlike the stationmaster back in Terre Haute. He eyed the situation warily before speaking.
“Wasn’t expecting any shipments this early in the day. Not that it looks like yer carrying anything anyhow. How might I be of service?”
Rhubarb tried to jump onto the platform but didn’t quite make it. Unfazed, he simply went around the platform until he found a good foothold so that he could climb up. The same couldn’t be said for Columbus who took the brunt of the fall. Luckily his lack of hair made it easier for him to dust himself off, if only he could manage such a thing.
The stationmaster simply stood there and stared, which Rhubarb interpreted as shock at seeing a man and his dog, both of whom had just arrived from the future. Once face to face with the stationmaster, he politely dusted himself off. He felt an urge to grab the man by his coveralls, but not wanting to add to his surprise, instead extended his gloved hand.
“Good day, sir. When, might I ask, do we find ourselves this day?”
The stationmaster still unsure of all that was unfolding before him, thought twice about taking the unfamiliar man’s hand. “Why yer in Decatur.”
“Decatur, Illinois,” thought Rhubarb. “Why we traveled nearly a hundred miles.”
“Well, what time is it, good sir?”
The stationmaster took his time with this question. He looked up at the sky; then at the locomotive; then at the dog on Rhubarb’s back; and finally at Rhubarb.
“It’s about 10:45, in the morning.”
“And what is today’s date, if you wouldn’t mind?”
“November sixth, 1897.”
An hour. They had traveled a hundred miles for nearly five hours to arrive an hour in the past.
“Huzzah! Columbus, we have made it! Our trip was not in vain!”
Rhubarb danced around the platform with Columbus, the bewildered stationmaster the only audience. They had traveled long and far indeed, but Rhubarb was too excited to ponder the consequences or the question: Would he ever make it back to his darling wife, Florentine?
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Time Train - Chapter 4
The timely adventures of Rhubarb T. Porterhut and his reluctant hound, Columbus, continue.
___
Rhubarb T. Porterhut checked his pocket watch, even though only ten seconds had past since he had last checked it. He had barely slept a wink the night before, anticipation and anxiety both playmates in his fluttery bowels. Today he would be a taking a historic leap back into time.
The crisp morning air caused his unwilling cohort to whimper, as the residual heat from his owner’s back pitifully warmed a patchy Columbus, who was not used to being that awake, or that cold, at that time.
The locomotive was as they had left it, still sitting in the exact same place. Rhubarb had considered taking it off the track, but there were too many risks involved, and he did not want to tempt fate. It was 6:52 in the AM.
“Ah, it is the perfect morning for a temporal excursion, is it not, Columbus?”
Columbus obliged with a demure murmur. He knew that not answering would only elicit a more enthusiastic series of questions which he hoped to avoid at this early hour.
Rhubarb, with Columbus, mounted the mechanical behemoth which at present sat as serenely as dead duck floating in a winter pond. With only minutes to spare before launching themselves into time’s mercy, he began prepping the machinery. He stoked the fire more so than before, as he had calculated that traveling into the past would require a considerable amount of fuel.
“Ah, ah, must not forget to set the dial to the ‘PAST,’” declared Rhubarb, as he fixed the time knob. “We have already lost some time as it is, traveling into the future. We must not forget even a tiny thing lest we forget everything and find ourselves lost in a sea of eternity.”
With the fire now roaring, and his watch seconds from nearing 7 o’clock, Rhubarb released the brakes and started up the engine. Steam, smoke, and other indiscernible gases escaped from the locomotive as it bellowed with life, startling Columbus who had just settled into a momentary dream about being a prima ballerina. The locomotive lurched forward slowly.
“And now we bid fond adieu to the present ... or future ... and make our way to the glorious past.”
The stationmaster watched from the platform, a lone figure and witness to the couple’s departure. He waved briefly before collecting himself and gruffly resuming his duty, which at the moment involved sweeping the newly dusted platform once again.
As the locomotive pulled away, Rhubarb shoveled a few more loads of coal into the firebox. He knew that they might have to traverse some distance for some time if they were to make any considerable trip back into history. The locomotive was now moving at a steady pace, and Rhubarb decided to sit down and take a moment’s rest. With Columbus cushioning his back and the fire warming his body, Rhubarb dreamt of where they might end up in the past.
___
Rhubarb T. Porterhut checked his pocket watch, even though only ten seconds had past since he had last checked it. He had barely slept a wink the night before, anticipation and anxiety both playmates in his fluttery bowels. Today he would be a taking a historic leap back into time.
The crisp morning air caused his unwilling cohort to whimper, as the residual heat from his owner’s back pitifully warmed a patchy Columbus, who was not used to being that awake, or that cold, at that time.
The locomotive was as they had left it, still sitting in the exact same place. Rhubarb had considered taking it off the track, but there were too many risks involved, and he did not want to tempt fate. It was 6:52 in the AM.
“Ah, it is the perfect morning for a temporal excursion, is it not, Columbus?”
Columbus obliged with a demure murmur. He knew that not answering would only elicit a more enthusiastic series of questions which he hoped to avoid at this early hour.
Rhubarb, with Columbus, mounted the mechanical behemoth which at present sat as serenely as dead duck floating in a winter pond. With only minutes to spare before launching themselves into time’s mercy, he began prepping the machinery. He stoked the fire more so than before, as he had calculated that traveling into the past would require a considerable amount of fuel.
“Ah, ah, must not forget to set the dial to the ‘PAST,’” declared Rhubarb, as he fixed the time knob. “We have already lost some time as it is, traveling into the future. We must not forget even a tiny thing lest we forget everything and find ourselves lost in a sea of eternity.”
With the fire now roaring, and his watch seconds from nearing 7 o’clock, Rhubarb released the brakes and started up the engine. Steam, smoke, and other indiscernible gases escaped from the locomotive as it bellowed with life, startling Columbus who had just settled into a momentary dream about being a prima ballerina. The locomotive lurched forward slowly.
“And now we bid fond adieu to the present ... or future ... and make our way to the glorious past.”
The stationmaster watched from the platform, a lone figure and witness to the couple’s departure. He waved briefly before collecting himself and gruffly resuming his duty, which at the moment involved sweeping the newly dusted platform once again.
As the locomotive pulled away, Rhubarb shoveled a few more loads of coal into the firebox. He knew that they might have to traverse some distance for some time if they were to make any considerable trip back into history. The locomotive was now moving at a steady pace, and Rhubarb decided to sit down and take a moment’s rest. With Columbus cushioning his back and the fire warming his body, Rhubarb dreamt of where they might end up in the past.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Time Train - Chapter 3
It's been a week since the last installment, so without further ado, here is chapter 3 of "Time Train."
___
“Florentine! Florentine! I have returned! I have returned from the past!”
Rhubarb raced through the streets like a madman, an exultant, giddy madman. Columbus yowled as well, happily knowing that he would in fact be eating his supper in a timely fashion.
Rhubarb burst through the front doors of his house like a flaming hog looking to dunk itself in the nearest unoccupied horse trough. There, across from the empty space where once sat the locomotive, was the ever accommodating Florentine, peacefully knitting a scarf that was perhaps more than twice too wide the length of what a scarf should have been. At the sight of his lovely wife, Rhubarb welled up with pride, lifting her up in his arms and spinning her around. And all through this Columbus released both hair and yips of joy while Florentine continued calmly completing her scarf.
“What grandiose achievement has found you today, Dear?”
“Oh, my darling wife, how have you been since I left? For it was minutes ago that I departed and several minutes thereafter that I skipped in order to reach you at this hour!”
Rhubarb danced around his wife, skipping to mimic his choice words.
“But, Dear, you have only been gone for maybe three quarters of an hour. That doesn’t seem nearly enough time for anything extraordinary to take place.”
“Do you not see? It is because I have bent time to my very will. For Columbus and I have accelerated through time such that, why, we are mere minutes younger than when we first activated the machine than we should be had I not activated the machine at all.”
At the moment Columbus heard his name, he elected not to acknowledge his part in the experiment, lest he should be volunteered again to act as fellow pioneer and co-pilot. His supper was enough welcomed adventure for him.
“Well, I never presume to know by what means or how you do what it is that you do, but I am proud of you nonetheless. And I am glad that you managed to accomplish all of this before the evening, Dear.”
The ecstatic Rhubarb planted a loving kiss on his young wife’s brow before striking a pose of success and achievement incomparable. And as Florentine had just finished her unusually fat scarf, she stood up and released an ever grateful Columbus from Rhubarb’s back sack.
“Now wash up, Dear, supper will be ready in an hour.”
But Rhubarb could not hear his kindhearted wife, for in his ears rang the voices of prospect and enterprise—for his next trip would be into the past.
___
“Florentine! Florentine! I have returned! I have returned from the past!”
Rhubarb raced through the streets like a madman, an exultant, giddy madman. Columbus yowled as well, happily knowing that he would in fact be eating his supper in a timely fashion.
Rhubarb burst through the front doors of his house like a flaming hog looking to dunk itself in the nearest unoccupied horse trough. There, across from the empty space where once sat the locomotive, was the ever accommodating Florentine, peacefully knitting a scarf that was perhaps more than twice too wide the length of what a scarf should have been. At the sight of his lovely wife, Rhubarb welled up with pride, lifting her up in his arms and spinning her around. And all through this Columbus released both hair and yips of joy while Florentine continued calmly completing her scarf.
“What grandiose achievement has found you today, Dear?”
“Oh, my darling wife, how have you been since I left? For it was minutes ago that I departed and several minutes thereafter that I skipped in order to reach you at this hour!”
Rhubarb danced around his wife, skipping to mimic his choice words.
“But, Dear, you have only been gone for maybe three quarters of an hour. That doesn’t seem nearly enough time for anything extraordinary to take place.”
“Do you not see? It is because I have bent time to my very will. For Columbus and I have accelerated through time such that, why, we are mere minutes younger than when we first activated the machine than we should be had I not activated the machine at all.”
At the moment Columbus heard his name, he elected not to acknowledge his part in the experiment, lest he should be volunteered again to act as fellow pioneer and co-pilot. His supper was enough welcomed adventure for him.
“Well, I never presume to know by what means or how you do what it is that you do, but I am proud of you nonetheless. And I am glad that you managed to accomplish all of this before the evening, Dear.”
The ecstatic Rhubarb planted a loving kiss on his young wife’s brow before striking a pose of success and achievement incomparable. And as Florentine had just finished her unusually fat scarf, she stood up and released an ever grateful Columbus from Rhubarb’s back sack.
“Now wash up, Dear, supper will be ready in an hour.”
But Rhubarb could not hear his kindhearted wife, for in his ears rang the voices of prospect and enterprise—for his next trip would be into the past.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Time Train - Chapter 2
Because so many people requested it, here is the second chapter of "Time Train."
___
It took Rhubarb approximately ten days to coax several of his neighbors to help move the time traversing locomotive out of his parlor and onto the street. Out of the ten days, nine of those were spent cajoling and coaxing his neighbors into helping him, as Rhubarb was both a very persuasive and influential man. It required another month to again plead with and bargain with his neighbors to help him move the locomotive to the nearest railroad track and station. Throughout the ordeal, Florentine stood steadfastly behind her husband, and out of the way of her neighbors’ flying garbage. But with his locomotive now on track, the always plucky Rhubarb T. Porterhut III was ready to proceed.
He had decided on exploring the near future. That way, should he find himself unable to return back to his own era, he would not have lost a considerable amount of time.
With his wife, Florentine, at home generally engaged in her own pursuits, Rhubarb mounted the locomotive with his faithfully reluctant dog, Columbus, strapped to his back.
“It is now, at this precise moment, 8:35AM, November fifth, 1897. As God as my witness and guide, let this first journey be an auspicious one. Let us head forth with little trepidation as we venture into realms unknown. Let us be safe and find our return as securely as we travel forward.”
There were no bystanders, with the exception of the stationmaster who swept the platform, and Columbus barked throughout the speech, which Rhubarb accepted as overwhelming approval of his invocation.
Rhubarb began shoveling coal into the firebox to stoke the fire. He then turned the time knob, a simple knob situated over a circle bisected into “PAST” and “FUTURE” halves, slightly to the “FUTURE” half. Then, as the machine slowly roared to life, it stirred up an immense cloud of dust which engulfed the whole locomotive.
He laughed loudly as the locomotive churned in place. As the cloud spread and dissipated, the triumphant Rhubarb exclaimed, “Traveling through time, I am here!”
It took a few more seconds for the air to clear, after which Rhubarb felt it was finally safe to step down. He examined the murky sky, and tasted the burnt air. Everything seemed different. Even the train station in front of him seemed somehow more filthy and worn, covered with the thin film of aging. Rhubarb stepped onto the platform and lunged at the stationmaster.
“Tell me, sir, what time is it?”
“Why 8:43 in the AM,” replied the stationmaster.
Ever more frantic and concerned, Rhubarb grabbed the stationmaster and shook him.
“But what day is it? What year?”
Columbus yelped his concerns as well, as he hoped that they were not too far off course.
“Why, the fifth of November, 1897.”
Rhubarb’s face went from anxiety, to confusion, then finally to elation.
“It works! It works! Hallelujah, Columbus, it worked!”
A large clump of fur fell off from Columbus, a clump of relief. They had indeed made it. They had traveled several minutes into the future. With victory in his heart, Rhubarb leapt from the platform, Columbus in tow, as he raced home to see how his wife fared in this new world.
___
It took Rhubarb approximately ten days to coax several of his neighbors to help move the time traversing locomotive out of his parlor and onto the street. Out of the ten days, nine of those were spent cajoling and coaxing his neighbors into helping him, as Rhubarb was both a very persuasive and influential man. It required another month to again plead with and bargain with his neighbors to help him move the locomotive to the nearest railroad track and station. Throughout the ordeal, Florentine stood steadfastly behind her husband, and out of the way of her neighbors’ flying garbage. But with his locomotive now on track, the always plucky Rhubarb T. Porterhut III was ready to proceed.
He had decided on exploring the near future. That way, should he find himself unable to return back to his own era, he would not have lost a considerable amount of time.
With his wife, Florentine, at home generally engaged in her own pursuits, Rhubarb mounted the locomotive with his faithfully reluctant dog, Columbus, strapped to his back.
“It is now, at this precise moment, 8:35AM, November fifth, 1897. As God as my witness and guide, let this first journey be an auspicious one. Let us head forth with little trepidation as we venture into realms unknown. Let us be safe and find our return as securely as we travel forward.”
There were no bystanders, with the exception of the stationmaster who swept the platform, and Columbus barked throughout the speech, which Rhubarb accepted as overwhelming approval of his invocation.
Rhubarb began shoveling coal into the firebox to stoke the fire. He then turned the time knob, a simple knob situated over a circle bisected into “PAST” and “FUTURE” halves, slightly to the “FUTURE” half. Then, as the machine slowly roared to life, it stirred up an immense cloud of dust which engulfed the whole locomotive.
He laughed loudly as the locomotive churned in place. As the cloud spread and dissipated, the triumphant Rhubarb exclaimed, “Traveling through time, I am here!”
It took a few more seconds for the air to clear, after which Rhubarb felt it was finally safe to step down. He examined the murky sky, and tasted the burnt air. Everything seemed different. Even the train station in front of him seemed somehow more filthy and worn, covered with the thin film of aging. Rhubarb stepped onto the platform and lunged at the stationmaster.
“Tell me, sir, what time is it?”
“Why 8:43 in the AM,” replied the stationmaster.
Ever more frantic and concerned, Rhubarb grabbed the stationmaster and shook him.
“But what day is it? What year?”
Columbus yelped his concerns as well, as he hoped that they were not too far off course.
“Why, the fifth of November, 1897.”
Rhubarb’s face went from anxiety, to confusion, then finally to elation.
“It works! It works! Hallelujah, Columbus, it worked!”
A large clump of fur fell off from Columbus, a clump of relief. They had indeed made it. They had traveled several minutes into the future. With victory in his heart, Rhubarb leapt from the platform, Columbus in tow, as he raced home to see how his wife fared in this new world.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Time Train - Chapter 1
This is a semi-original serial that I am writing. If you enjoy it, I plan to write many chapters more. If not, I'll probably still continue to write it.
___
Rhubarb T. Porterhut III had just finished his greatest creation. Although he thought he had reached the acme of his creativity when he bred the first ever self-epilating African Husky, he was clearly mistaken. For never could he have conceived that he would one day create the world’s first time traveling steam-powered locomotive.
In the parlor of his home, with his arms thrust skyward, he threw his head back and yelled for all the heavens and his incredulous Terre Haute neighbors to hear.
“Yes, Florentine, I have finally done it this time! For surely human eyes have never gazed upon such a mechanical abnormality as this!”
The proud scientist/animal breeder called out to his petite and overly indulgent wife, Florentine, who stepped into the parlor and nodded at him, waving her hand in approval.
“Yes, Dear. You’ve finally done it indeed. But what is it, may I inquire?”
“Why it is the world’s ... nay, history’s first ever space-distance and time-duration modulating traversal apparatus.”
Florentine shook her head. She was used to her husband’s long-winded speeches, laden with incomprehensible scientific jargon. As with the rest of his creations, this one was lost on her meager intellect.
“But, Dear, it appears to me to be a locomotive… in our house. Dear, a locomotive in our house.”
“Yes, Florentine, is it not grand? With this infernal machine, I will embark upon great adventures through space and time. Why, perhaps I will visit yesteryear, and learn the God’s honest truths about our nation’s forefathers. Or to the future, to learn of our country’s fascinating new endeavors.”
“You do that, Dear. As long as you and Columbus are back in time for supper.”
Columbus barked when he heard his name. The overly precocious African Husky was not one for adventure, and quickly began shedding what little hair he had at the thought of time travel. Rhubarb gestured wildly at him, while Florentine headed back into the kitchen.
“Come, Columbus! We must embark now for who knows what Father Time has in store for us?”
___
Rhubarb T. Porterhut III had just finished his greatest creation. Although he thought he had reached the acme of his creativity when he bred the first ever self-epilating African Husky, he was clearly mistaken. For never could he have conceived that he would one day create the world’s first time traveling steam-powered locomotive.
In the parlor of his home, with his arms thrust skyward, he threw his head back and yelled for all the heavens and his incredulous Terre Haute neighbors to hear.
“Yes, Florentine, I have finally done it this time! For surely human eyes have never gazed upon such a mechanical abnormality as this!”
The proud scientist/animal breeder called out to his petite and overly indulgent wife, Florentine, who stepped into the parlor and nodded at him, waving her hand in approval.
“Yes, Dear. You’ve finally done it indeed. But what is it, may I inquire?”
“Why it is the world’s ... nay, history’s first ever space-distance and time-duration modulating traversal apparatus.”
Florentine shook her head. She was used to her husband’s long-winded speeches, laden with incomprehensible scientific jargon. As with the rest of his creations, this one was lost on her meager intellect.
“But, Dear, it appears to me to be a locomotive… in our house. Dear, a locomotive in our house.”
“Yes, Florentine, is it not grand? With this infernal machine, I will embark upon great adventures through space and time. Why, perhaps I will visit yesteryear, and learn the God’s honest truths about our nation’s forefathers. Or to the future, to learn of our country’s fascinating new endeavors.”
“You do that, Dear. As long as you and Columbus are back in time for supper.”
Columbus barked when he heard his name. The overly precocious African Husky was not one for adventure, and quickly began shedding what little hair he had at the thought of time travel. Rhubarb gestured wildly at him, while Florentine headed back into the kitchen.
“Come, Columbus! We must embark now for who knows what Father Time has in store for us?”
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