Liberation Suite | Tara L Guillot
Sebastian waddled up to the cab of the train. He turned and waved at his mother, stopping short of the blown kisses he knew she wanted. She sent a flurry of kisses his way anyway. She insisted on seeing him off on every run, as though he needed her kisses for protection.
Every other day Sebastian played out this scenario. As he waited for the engine at the back to hitch the three cars to his, Sebastian sulked. Everything was wrong with him. He was fat; morbidly obese the doctor had told him. The meals he ate, copious amounts of fried and gravy smothered foods, homemade breads and cakes, were what his mother served. He was friendless. Sharing living quarters with his mother kept him from finding friends. If he wanted to go somewhere, there was an inquisition of who, why, where, when, and how that wore him down to the point that it wasn’t worth going. God forbid he ever bring anyone into the house. His mother would stifle both of them until the tentative friendship melted into a puddle of resentment.
Sebastian was tired of his personal life. He wanted to be someone, something. He wanted to be something to someone. So he sat in his train engine, sulking and grumbling to himself.
The signal came. The three cars were attached and the train was ready. Sebastian slammed the lever and felt the wheels lurch under his seat. The lurch became a shift and the shift moved into a slow rumble. The behemoth engine drew out of Flatland Station.
The train danced through prostrated plains dotted with trees and shrubs alternately blasted by wind and heat. Leafless and forlorn, they stood steady in their environment. Sebastian reveled in his time in the