Titania (edited)

(A/N: This is the edited version of Titania. I plan on submitting it to a magnet school. Thanks for the reviews, I hope this is a much stronger piece.)

His last picture was taken minutes before disaster struck.

The buoyant mood of the send-off party had wound down to a low hum of energy; balloons not popped but sagging weakly. M.Joli and her entourage had retired to the car on the far end of the train. She had no appetite for parties, and wherever the famous model went, her escorts went too.

Caspian Beytel was allowed to join this retinue only because of his photographic pass for Parks Global, which in the past few years had become one of the most prestigious newspapers in the world by seizing the market for instant, constant, online news.

His camera whirred as he contemplated the shot. His partner Ebina Shoyu sat next to him, typing furious updates for Parks. She would distract from the image, so Caspian focused instead on the model sitting across from him.

Her dark hair swung in sheets over her face, hat tilted at a fashionable 45 degrees. She sat alone in the corner of the compartment, pink Prada purse contrasting a pale green dress, the velvet seat barely dented by her thin frame. Even when she wasn’t on the red carpet, M.Joli was still on display.

His finger pressed a button; the camera snapped and captured the moment. Filter options slid by, and he selected black&white. It would go well with the cream background of Parks, next to the lead story.

And what a story that was: the world’s first ever entirely machine-operated luxury train, speeding across the country from Los Angeles to New York City. Caspian wasn’t sure how it worked, exactly. He knew only that it involved some electricity-conducting metal called Titania, for which the train had been named, and that the rails were forty feet in the air.

Caspian’s job was to get a good picture of the streamlined silver train and the celebrities riding inside it. Old money, new money, all were riding Titania to the end of the line, but for some reason, Caspian and Ebina had been assigned to follow the reclusive French model, who went by her last name only.

Another click of a button and the image whooshed to the editor of Parks Global. He smiled. The train rocked. The compartment was surrounded in stuffy silence, hot and thick. Caspian thought of nothing but his job. He had no idea that only twelve cars away, something was going terribly wrong.

A wire--a jolt-- a spark. A frayed cord in the central computer system, exposed end rubbing against a red-blue wire, creating dangerous friction. It was only a tiny flare, nothing big enough to cause damage. But fire is catching. And this inferno spread almost as fast as the train it was derailing.

The spark glowed vainly in search of something to burn. It strained and stretched it’s tiny body until, at last, it connected with the GPS chip embedded in the system.

After that, the explosions started.

Growing in size and sound, fire raced across the train, eating it alive. Metal scorched and sparked.

It was M.Joli, staring vacantly out the window, who noticed first.

“Feu! Sinistre!” Fire. Disaster.

Ebina looked up, sable eyes wide in horror, and raced to the window. Caspian lurched from his seat, stomach churning in confusion. “What is it? What’s going on?” He pushed mocha hair out of his eyes.

Ebina waved him over in frantic gestures. “The train--it’s on fire!”

It was true; a blazing inferno had consumed two-thirds of the train, glowing bright red and yellow. Heat rose in waves, blurring the air. Almost all the windows were gone, either blown to bits in the explosions or melted by the flames. Only their compartment was untouched, but the fire was growing fast.

The screams echoed around them: people wailing in terrified chorus as flames turned silver metal into oozing pools and human beings into charred corpses. Cool air rushed outside the train, but inside, heat swallowed the compartment. The smell of burning metal curled, invasive and pervasive.

“Something must have gone wrong--this train was supposed to be uncrashable!” Anger and resentment filled Caspian’s voice. “And now we’re all going to die.”

M.Joli shouted something in French. Ebina translated: “She says we have to jump. The train’s going to crash, and we’re over a lake. It’s the only shot we have.”

Panic flicked across Caspian’s face. He crossed his arms. Below them, flat blue-gray water flashed silver with the reflection of Titania.

“I’m not jumping.” He stated flatly. “Diving into water is worse than hitting cement. And we’re forty feet up! I’ll take my chances with the fire, thanks.”

Ebina translated his words into French; M. Joli shrugged, opened the window, and climbed out herself. The last breath of her words echoed throughout the stuffy room.

“Au revoir.”

Smoke was seeping through the compartment door now; the temperature of the car was slowly increasing. Sweat dripped down Caspian’s neck. His pulse pounded in his ears. The lights in the room slowly faded away to nothing as the power went out. Doubts reached out and slid malevolent tongues down his body, making him step towards the window to tightly grip the cool leather of the train seat. Cas and Ebina stared as the inferno raged around them; each one’s helplessness reflected in the other’s eyes. Ebina’s breath was tight with worry and fear. Sticky silence fell.

Suddenly, the train lurched, jerked, was nearly thrown off the rails. Caspian felt his head slam against the open window, blood trickle down his face. As if in a movie, the rest of his body tipped slowly out of the train. Head. Arms. Torso. Legs. Ebina screamed. It sounded distant and far away.

Caspian fell.

He flailed, clothes rippling against his skin, his arms stretched, reaching, almost posed, like a model for one of his photo shoots. His head cleared of any thoughts as wind rushed past it, like he was empty, already a corpse.

But his hand, in some miracle, gripped the window ledge, grooved metal catching on his nails. Caspian slammed into the wall of the train. Pain spike up his side, but he sighed in relief, eyes clenched shut in fear. He swayed dangerously. Ebina’s voice floated down to him:

“Cas! Can you hear me?” A pause. “Look at me!” Her voice cracked in desperation. “Cas! Please!”

He cracked an eye open. Ebina stood over him, leaning out the window, fire raging behind her, closing in like some predatory animal. But what could he do? He was barely hanging on himself. A sharp pang of despair shook him, and he looked away. Cas stared down into the tormented surface of the lake. Far below, he could see his own reflection, warped and distorted by the ripples of people jumping out of the Titania. Above him, a bonfire raged. Smoke curled through the air in dangerous spirals, turning the clear sky thick with ash. The metal of the train burned under his fingertips. Ebina screamed, eyes wild and panicked, short hair standing up on end.

Fire or water, water or fire. His thoughts echoed.

She yelled again: “Don’t let go, Cas! Don’t let go!”

Her words were caught, tangled and ripped up in the wind. They blew away, never reaching Caspian.

He let go.

Cold air rushed passed him, ripping away his camera and glasses. He felt naked, falling to his death, heartbeat pounding loud in his ears, hands grasping at nothing. As the icy water rose up to meet him, he had one final thought:

This would make a fantastic photo.