Dearly in October
It happened long ago, long before he had forgotten his name.
'When the railway comes, more visitors will stop by to visit our town, for it is a quaint and unique town,' they'd said.
And so the townspeople watched in anticipation and with great expectations as the tracks were laid.
The kind ladies would bring refreshments to the workers during the day, while the men entertained them with cards and alcohol in the saloons at night.
And the more daring and naughty of the children would dare each other to steal the bolts from the tracks that had been laid. But a watchman and a maltreated and hungry watchdog soon put an end to those midnight adventures.
The process was long, but the people were patient. And school was let out early so that the young ones could join the crowd to watch when the first train finally rumbled past.
Twice a day, the train would pass, but it would never stop. And contrary to what they had expected, the townspeople soon noticed that what few visitors had even stopped by their humble town before began to dwindle in numbers.
The neighboring town where the train stopped boomed, while their own decayed.
When one family left, the others started to follow suit.
Houses were abandoned, and shops were closed, until only the old barn remained, for they knew not what to do with the animals.
This was Dearly's home, together with his grandparents, when his own parents left to find their fortune.
'We'll come back for you,' they'd said. 'Just be patient and help in the farm for now, and wait for us to come back to take you to a better place.'
So Dearly waited. But he waited too long, or they came back too late.
One day, he woke up to find that his grandparents had both passed on in their sleep together. It took him a whole day to bury them, marking their grave out with stones and sticks.
Then the animals got sick, and then so did Dearly.
He doesn't really remember much what happened after that, but he remembers waking up in the night with a full moon in the sky. He was alone then, but he soon noticed others who had gone over before him.
Some recognized him, but they mostly kept to themselves and led their own afterlives.
He got used to it after awhile, amusing himself in the empty houses, and climbing the trees that had started to grow through them. This was what he did, and all he could do, until his name started to fade and he could no longer remember who he was.
And the only thing he remembers now is that it happened long ago. Long ago, before October's end.
Standard disclaimers apply
Note: I started scribbling this in the margins of my sociology lecture handouts in between classes, before I'd finished reading Neil Gaiman's short 'October in the Chair' (Fragile Things). I was rather pleased to find after finishing his story, that the events in this one aren't totally implausible.
What I really want to do is send this story, inspired by his own, to Mr. Gaiman, along with so much thanks for giving us dreams and other fantastic realms to escape to from our own, but I understand that professional writers are busy people. So rather than interrupt him from creating another masterpiece, here I do place this humble story, in tribute to the genius that is Neil Gaiman.
I'm my own worst critic, but any comments are most welcome.
Thank you very "muchly" for reading and do have a blessed day :)