Disclaimer: I do not own the Alex Rider series.
Hola! This is a very short chapter but it's the start of my new story. If you like it, tell your friends. If you don't like it, then tell me. Okay? All done here? Go ahead, read on!
The chapter title comes from the Coldplay song 'Violet Hill'. And you guessed it. I don't own that either. And the story title is taken from W.B Yeats's 'An Irish Airman Foresees His Death'. That's not mine.
The train wails by loudly. The station master waves it off. The moon is high tonight, lighting the tracks. Tonight is perfect. Tonight is the night.
The signal is given and the next freight train puffs forward and stops, waiting for the station master to raise the barrier. The station master is cold. It is minus nineteen degrees out and he is thickly padded with a bulky coat and rather large, oddly shaped gloves.
He is busy. This is why he doesn't see the small figure dash across the tracks.
The small figure is not so thickly padded. His coat is barely more than a rag.
The small figure is shorter and frailer. His cheeks are pinched and he gives the impression of being hungry.
The small figure is a boy.
The boy climbs the steel ladder of the over-track platform quickly and crawls on his hands and knees across. With two sharp glances up and down the station he slides down the ladder and races across the concrete. He reaches the end of the station platform and jumps down, landing with a quiet crash in the middle of an over grown hedge.
The boy scrambles out of the hedge worse off than when he landed in it. His face and arms are now covered in thin scratches that sting. His coat is ripped along the sleeves. The boy gives no sign of pain or worry. He has eyes only for the freight train.
Swiftly, keeping the hedges between him and the track, he races along. He has practiced this for weeks. He can do it nine times out of ten. Which is not enough. He reaches the stretch of track where he has chosen to jump on. He has been planning this for an entire year.
He knows he has no hope of getting on the train while it is not moving. He will not risk being caught by the station master and sent to an orphanage. He knows his best chance is at the spot where he now stands.
There is an outcrop here, just big enough for it's purpose. It is close enough to the track for him to make the jump safely but far enough from the station that the station master won't see him jump on.
He is three hundred metres from the station and he watches in silence, hidden by bushes, as the train starts to pull out. He knows it will go slowly to build up speed for the first five hundred metres and he forces himself to calm down.
He has to get it right.
His palms are sweaty and he wipes them in the grass. He cannot lose his grip when he jumps or he will be crushed beneath the wheels of the train. The howl of the machine starts up. The tracks rumble. The whistle is blown twice. The station master waves off the freighter.
The boy waits.
The train is gradually closing the distance between them. Now it is two hundred metres from him. The tracks vibrations turn to a hum. The boy remembers a half forgotten science lesson. The tracks have expansion joints but tonight they won't be needed. It is too cold for the track to expand.
The boy waits.
The train puffs steam and smoke into the ink black sky. The tracks tremble in anticipation. The boy is trembling too. He cannot help it. His plans are coming to fruition tonight. The boy tries to remember his father's face. He's been trying to think of it for weeks but he still cannot remember it.
The boy waits.
The train ploughs onwards. One hundred and fifty metres and gradually closing.
The boy waits.
The train is building up a slight speed.
The boy waits.
The train is fifty metres from him.
The boy waits.
He can see the driver's face. The whites of the mans eyes.
Still he waits.
The carriages are in front of him now. He blinks. The wind they have snapped up rustles his hair wildly. He blinks again. Dust is in his eyes. Now the timber carriages are passing him, the ones with no sides.
The boy springs forward.
He hangs in the air for what seems like a lifetime. His eye are wide open. His fingers are scrabbling. His legs want to be back on solid ground.
Perhaps it is the airflow around the train. Perhaps it is God. Perhaps it is the Devil. Perhaps it is destiny. Or perhaps he simply failed to jump far enough. But he will not make a safe landing.
He can see this but he will not accept it. He wants to get on that train. He will get on that train. He will.
His fingers grip desperately at the edge of the carriage. He grabs it messily. His hand feels like it will be pulled out of it's socket. He swings himself forward, using his momentum, and lands in a heap on top of the stripped timber that occupies the carriage. A wave of exhaustion passes over him. He is ready to just fall into a deep, dream filled sleep.
But he is hungry. He is always hungry. There is not enough food in the world to fill the gaping void in his stomach. He must eat something.
He pulls off his jacket and takes a small kitchen knife from his pocket. The coat is clumsily stitched and the seams are easily sliced by the knife. The hem falls away raggedly. A tiny lump of bread and a small wedge of cheese fall out.
The boy nibbles at both then places them safely in the corner of the carriage where they won't fall out. All he can do now is wait.
All he can do now is hope.
Chapter over. What did you think? Should it just be deleted or should I keep going?
I'd also urge you to check out the forum I post in. It's called 'An All New Rating System For Stories' and I think you'd be surprised how great it is. Plus, if you do decide to visit, I might update the teeniest bit quicker...
Reviews are also a good way to persuade me too.