A Train to Nowhere

By Jave Harron

I had known that I was dead shortly before I was staring Death in the face. Or rather, the amorphous blob of darkness that was Death's closest analog for a face. The body of Death was presumably the same, but all I could focus on was the face. Even the ambient light from the afternoon sun on the train platform and rails did not phase the moving void in the slightest.

For having just died from hitting the electrified rail on the elevated train tracks, I seemed surprisingly happy. I guess I wanted to remain happy even after my demise. "So," I asked Death. "Am I going to Heaven or Hell?"


"And that is?" I inquired anxiously.


When I had died, the instant had frozen in place to me. But now, I could clearly see motion coming from down the tracks. At first, the shape appeared distorted by the still heat waves in the air. The white cloud issuing forward from the speeding object caused me to think it was an old fashioned steam engine. Death was no longer visible (or merely choose not to remain seen). Whoever (or whatever) the "D-Ranger" was, I was about to find out.

A closer look at the train dispelled any thoughts it was something I had seen before. What I had assumed was steam, upon closer examination, was a white fluid quickly dissipating into the air. The front of the object was no black metal locomotive with a cowcatcher. Instead, the object looked organic, which caused me to think of a phallus' foreskin. Below the circular, fleshy front of the train were several chitinous "wheels" that hissed as they rolled.

As the train came into the station, the entire train came into view. Behind the "glans" of the organic machine, I saw the source of the liquid: a small phallus-like object, ejaculating a white fluid into the atmosphere. The entire body of the "locomotive" appeared as one long phallus, save for the "cabin" at the end of the locomotive. Blue and purple veins carrying unknown fluids inside were visible under the fleshy of traditional windows, a number of massive eyeballs protruded from the front and sides of the ossified cabin. At first, the horrifically oversized pupils erratically examined their surroundings, until I could see them. Almost all at once, they all locked their gaze at me. A strange chirp of glee issued forth from somewhere on the engine.

Examining the cabin further, I traced the source of the bizarre sound. At the place I would expect to see a door in the back of the engine, there was naught but a vertically-opening mouth, lined with countless jagged teeth on either side. Behind the teeth was a fleshy, exposed membrane that vibrated as the high-pitched chittering continued.

Behind the engine was a membrane connecting it with a series of similar cars behind it. Vaguely resembling intestines, the membrane twitched and throbbed. Smaller veins snaked their way through the tissue. The railcar directly behind the locomotive had three similar door-mouths on the side I could see, and a number of quaking bosom-like protrusions on the roof.

The other cars I could see resembled this construction. As I looked down, I noticed something especially peculiar about the chitinous wheels I had seen before. They had now unfurled, not unlike pillbugs. The body of the train now sagged notably lower, as the wheels had unfurled themselves into a multitude of insectile legs. The train began to walk off the tracks, and towards me. The engine faced me, and something appeared different about the front. Someone was trying to climb out of the large, fleshy hole in the center of the "glans." If it was a (normal) phallus, the unfortunate fellow would be trying to climb out of a urinary duct. However, on an entity that resembled a carnivorous, organic, and phallic train, I doubted that standard anatomy would prove relevant here. I was unsure if the train, or the man was the "D-Ranger."

The man exploded out of the front of the train in a shower of spunk. Pulling himself up, I could tell he was hardly a normal man. Even with spunk soaking his leather coat, I could tell he dressed like a stereotypical cowboy. He wore a ten-gallon hat (which miraculously still stuck to his head), a leather coat (made of an unknown sort of leather), and wearing boots with spurs (which seemed to resemble bones to me). However, he only had a single holster on his right hip. The other out of place thing (of many) about the man was his belt made of unraveled coathangers.

"Howdy!" the man exclaimed in a disarming Texan tone. "I'm D-Ranger, and mah steed here is Judas!"

Before I could say anything, the D-Ranger drew his sidearm and leveled it at me. I focused on the weapon closer. The weapon resembled a combination of a grotesquely enlarged fetus, a straightened phallus, and standard pistol. The fetal aspect terminated with the head. The two beady eyes of the fetus melded seamlessly into a phallus I assumed acted as the gun barrel. Instead of a traditional pistol grip, the vestigial tail of the fetus was held. The legs of the fetus had not yet separated, and they remained fused to the tail. The trigger, however, was one of the most disturbing features of the "gun." Comprised of what I assumed to be malformed arms, the fingers of the D-Ranger drew them backwards.

"This here is mah gun, Phetal," D-Ranger explained. "Now, you'll be gettin' along now, here?"

"Excuse me, Mister D-Ranger," I said formally. "But who are you, and where are you taking my soul?"

"That's none o' your concern," he said as he shoved the bizarre pistol at my back. "Now, get in there!"

He pointed towards the mouth-door of the engine's cabin. The closer the D-Ranger forced me, the more excited the train got. The engine's eyes watched me engine continued chittering happily. Deep inside, I felt why it was happy now. It was feeding time.

Before, I did not want to find out what "Phetal" shot. Now, it was time to put aside my fears and run away from the monster. As I turn to run, I heard what sounded like an infant crying. The sudden jab of pain in my back reminded me how close the D-Ranger had placed the barrel to my back. I fell flat on the ground in pain. Something acidic was eating through my back, and draining my strength. I could feel the D-Ranger grab one of my legs, and start dragging me towards the train's waiting maul.

"I don't know why they always make it so darn hard," was the last thing I heard the D-Ranger say.

He loaded my weakened form into the engine's mouth, and shoved me backwards. At once, the mouth slammed shut, and foul-smelling fluids began to fill the organic chamber I was in. I could feel my very existence began to dissolved as the fluid level rose. Bits of rotten and partially digested flesh floated around inside the soup, and soon, they enveloped me. That was the last thing I remembered as I passed through the same digestive system that had devoured countless other entities: angels, demons, heroes, villains, and mortals. Each passed through, and each had unknowingly left bits of themselves to greet the next unfortunate victim. Beneath the bits of divine and mortal detritus, I finally succumbed to the D-Ranger and the train to nowhere.