The new pills were in my pocket, probably getting all linty. Or should I say the new-new-new pills: after all, this was the third try at finding a medication I'm not allergic to. After throwing my guts up on two different meds, I'm not about to swallow another one, only to find it's coming back up too.
Why do I even have medication? It's not like I'm in horrible pain when I don't take it.
My arms are stuck straight out, and they waver as I try to balance on one metal track. If my foot touches the ground, it's "burned" by lava. Lava is pretty good incentive not to touch the middle of the train tracks: even if in real life, its not lava. Its just rocks.
I stuff my hands in my pockets and feel the oblong pills big enough for a horse to have trouble swallowing. I wrap them in my hands, and as I walk, they "accidentally" fall to the rails below.
"What are you doing?" A voice says behind me. I near jump outta my skin and whip around.
A cop. Great. More specifically, my cop, if you wanna call him that. This guy has stopped me so many times for so many things I wonder why I still don't know his name.
"Miss, you know this is another offense, right?"
"Speak up, please." He taps his ear.
"Doing what?" I say it louder and clearer.
"Thanks. Sorry miss, I was shot in the ear at one time in my career and lost most of my hearing. I can only hear what's loud and close to me."
He looks old, probably near retirement. The bullet isnt the only thing making you lose your hearing... Grey, wispy hair has completely taken over--including the little tuffs in his ears--and he's even thinning on the top. His eyes are brown, not warm or cold, and his jaw is sharp and jutted, along with a cleft right in the end. He might actually be intimidating if he was taller than 5' 9'', tops.
"Now, what are you doing right now?" He says it like I'm some sort of idiot. Which, granted, I may be.
I shrug. "Standing. Breathing."
"Where are you standing?"
"What kind of tracks?"
"The train kind." I grin. I can't help myself: This is too fun.
"Don't get smart with me, girl. This is a crime. Just like drawing with chalk on public grounds, trespassing, climbing the old oaks, and most of the other things I find you doing. These trains are remote operated! There's no driver! You could die! Did you know that?"
"Well now you know. What's in your hand?"
"Why aren't you taking them?"
I stay quiet. I don't have an excuse.
"What are they for?"
I stare right past him. Something's coming over the underpass, but the heat waves are making it hard to see just how close it is.
"Miss! What are they for?"
"Train!" I start the opposite direction, towards the road. It's closer than I would have preferred. He grabs the back of my collar.
"I told you not to mess with me! Now, why don't you call your parents and have them explain exactly why you're here and what these pills are for?"
"I'm not messing with you, dude!" Forget formality. "There's a train coming! Let me go!"
"I think I'd hear a train."
"You're deaf!" I tug out of his grip. Now I can see. The train is way, way too close for comfort: 200 feet and approaching fast. It's black and still new; its metal wheels gliding easily over the metal rails. No horns are blaring, and the rail barely shakes.
I sprint down the side of track, half-falling as the rocks slip from under me. And I know its cliché, but I watch in slow-motion as he turns around, sees the train, and starts to run
And I watch his foot get caught on the rail. He trips, falls: sprawls across the path of this monster locomotive. I look at him, and he looks at me, and then
Well, then i had to look away.