The train was coming. Everyone could feel the heat of it in their bones; hell was surely rolling into town like low-lying thunder on a humid dusky night. The fate of this town was decided as soon as the men, women, and children settled this dust pot out of desperation and basic human greed. The nails holding each and every store and house together were sewn in by the blood of innocence and the sweat of sinners. We all came to the West looking for something better. Looking for money, gold, freedom, a lawless existence. But we got more than we bargained for. The railroad was finished and with it came the Wild West's end. A train was coming. Coming into our town looking to sweep up our lost souls with it. Gold doesn't mean one damn thing in the face of death. The devil cares not for man's desires or material bargains. He wants his payment in life and he's surely gonna get paid in full when the train comes to collect. My dear sweet Maudlin was fixing up the end for us. Right on our cast iron stove in the one room shack we call home. The moment we got wind that our town was next we headed down to the corner store and purchased ingredients for our last earthly delight. Some might say we were taking the yellow belly way out, but from where I stand, it was a mercy most in this town wouldn't afford themselves. Not that any of them didn't deserve what was coming for them. After all, the people are the reason for their own stunted lives. Just earlier this mornin' when I got the sordid news from the little yeller boy, he was screamin’ mighty hard about the fate of the town before ours. He said, “It’s a comin’ at midnight! She’ll steam into town with her fires raging! Not a human in sight of her! Like hell on a train,” the boy hollered with such conviction. Most of the townspeople that were within earshot stopped to take in the news. Many emotions shadowed the haggard faces of the working class. Most of us realized that fate had finally broken our time glass and there was no running anymore. No amount of begging on our knees, jewels, or good etiquette would save us now. We had done peed in the coffee. The first low whistle blow pulled me from my thoughts. Maudlin’s head whipped up from where she was baking to gaze with wide eyes out the little kitchen window. The temperature had taken to rising a little with each passing minute. 88
Death by Chocolate | Haley Arsenault
