Drache
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Lyonel Kuhlman had been running for so long now that he had almost forgotten what it felt like to have a home, a family… a life… and yet it was not all that long ago that everything he was now missing lay comfortably at his fingertips. Sadly, time was running rampant and after the first five months or so it seemed as if one sunrise melded into the next with any particular day of the week being about as unimportant as where he found his next meal or in which corner to sleep.
With the smells of grease and creosote-treated railroad ties assaulting his nostrils he rounded a silent boxcar and clumsily stumbled across the first rail in the dimly lit area. Grabbing hold of a dangling air hose he steadied himself briefly before attempting to cross the second rail, all the while being careful not to be seen by the engineer of the yard-engine who was busily pulling and pushing the train cars from one area to another as if shuffling them into one enormous deck resting upon their steel wheels and then dealing them out to different players on separate tracks.
Rounding another row of storage-crate laden low-riders he beheld a lengthy line of freight cars that were blocking his chosen route of travel. Rather than taking the long way around, Lyonel climbed over the coupling joining two cars together and emerged on the other side of the second line of rails whose smooth, silver surface seemed to reflect light even in an area lacking a direct source. Before him now stretched another set of tracks side-to-side, beyond which lay the river; dark and deep. Appearing lazy in its demeanor and giving no impressions of being in any hurry to reach the ocean, Lyonel considered swimming across the wide span of water before giving due consideration to the doubtless swift undercurrent hidden just beneath the surface. He acknowledged the inviting thought of the touch of water against his filthy skin, its cooling and cleansing qualities both being badly needed, but in the interest of an expedient search for food he quickly ruled against this action and cast his eyes about for an alternate means of fording the expanse.
A glance to the left confirmed a bridge crossing the dark river about a mile away, its lighted girders standing out before and above the headlights of steady yet intermittent automobile traffic crossing in both directions. This avenue appeared to be the closest and easiest way of getting to the other side where the many colored lights of a riverside carnival sparkled on the surface of the water like diamonds of unparalleled beauty. While Lyonel was used to the myriad lights of a city, having seen them in redundant repetition while traveling through the different cities, it was always a welcomed sight when something as noteworthy as a carnival were to catch his weary eyes.
For so long he had been keeping watch on the skies; a prerequisite to staying alive as preparedness was the name of the game now. In fact, Lyonel was getting damned good at recognizing the warning signs and outmaneuvering his foe by staying one step ahead – although, with remembered anguish, he admitted to his past inexperience and carelessness at having been caught completely off-guard on occasion. His mind once again painfully recalled one particular incident he would never forget, a tragedy that would haunt him for the remainder of his days. The loss was mind-numbing; the price of his lack of foresight and ingenuity being far too high, and even though the voice of reason that tried to communicate with him inside his head told him that there was really nothing he could have done to prevent the outcome, he was solely convinced of his blame in the resulting deadly game. But he lived. Should that not count for something? Should his quick reflexes and inventiveness at least be rewarded with a mental pat on the back? After all, were it not for these instincts and learned behavior he would not still be walking on two legs and breathing the warm air of summer into his lungs.
Behind him the busy
yard-engine passed noisily along the lengthy row of rail cars while Lyonel began
his walk toward the bridge. Maybe if he lost himself in the crowd within the
carnival for awhile he could take refuge in the amusement of the children and
adults alike as they staggered from ride to dizzying ride with their corndogs
and cotton candy and caramel apples and popcorn. No doubt he could find a
discarded bit of nourishment in one or more of the garbage cans beside the
concession stands, and at this thought his stomach suddenly reminded him that he
had eaten nothing in a day and a half. This was not his longest stretch with
abject hunger, but it was enough to make him take notice.
The lights upon the river to
his right continued to twinkle and undulate as if originating from the water
itself; ever-changing in hues of red, yellow and green fluorescence while music
and laughter floated effortlessly across the watery divide that lay between
himself and his epicurean engagement.
Lyonel had long-ago learned
where to find food, to brush off the flies and roaches and accept without
hesitation what meager offerings were left behind by an overstuffed public who
discarded food like it was a national pastime. It took him surprisingly little
time to overcome the stigma of digging through trash cans in full view of the
public outside of fast food places. Frankly, locating food was its own reward
and one that needed to be considered an accomplishment, not an embarrassment. In
the beginning, it was an uncomfortable situation, but within a very short period
of time he had found that his inability to afford food did nothing to quell his
desire to consume it. Therefore, Lyonel really had little choice but to humble
himself in front of disapproving eyes and accept what disparaging remarks were
hurled his way. More private were the accommodations to be found when dining out
of dumpsters behind restaurants, but with the good came the bad. Although the
menu offered a vast variety of culinary tidbits after closing for the night
Lyonel found himself having to fight off the rats, who stood up for their belief
that they had exclusive rights to these metal bins. All in all, though, there
was plenty of food to be found if Lyonel were willing to look for it. Even so,
although the food he had access to was unappetizingly abundant, Lyonel was now a
mere shell of his former self.
Selected text © 2011 Jeffrey Lynn Stoddard