Train 39

Let me just start out saying, I hate trains. I never liked them and now I can’t look at one without screaming in fear. My parents think I’m mad, sending me to the best doctors they can afford. Test after test, they say nothing is wrong with me. That I’m just making it up, but it was real, it happened, and I have the proof.

 Let’s start from the beginning, my name is Kimmy. That’s K.I.M.M.Y, not Kim, not Kimmi, Kimmy. I am seventeen years of age as of March 17th. My parents have sent me to a boarding school in Marseille France, for the year. I was never fond of these schools, a bunch of snot noised, spoiled, brats, who dreamed of being famous. Or just wanting daddy, and others, to buy or do anything they asked; As Mean girls proudly put, plastics. I am no plastic, I have long, wavy blonde hair in which I always wear up in a ponytail, and letting my bangs flow down, covering my for head. The hair reaching my emerald eyes framed by thick black glasses. Hey, I had hipster glasses before they were cool.

Then there are my freckled noise and cheeks redder than an apple. People say I can just cover them up, but why should I? There a part of me and besides I never cared for makeup, and only wear it on special occasions; even then it’s very little. I don’t see how the girls’ in my dorm can get up at the crack of dawn , all twenty pounds of cosmetics, and then spend hours on their hair. Combing it, striating it, and curling it? Blaph, I’ll stick to a simple brush and a hat.

You’re probably wondering where I’m from, are you not? Well unlike most of my school mates, I’m from America, happily raised in Oklahoma all sixteen years. I find it so funny when people say my accent is strange, I always reply in my horrible French accent, “Have you heard yourself?” Anyway, my family moved to Brighton, United Kingdom six months ago, two weeks after my birthday, great present. Father’s military job transferred him across the seven seas into proper central, in which I now call home.

So I had to pack up and leave my friends behind. I still keep in touch with all of them, but between studies and teasing from the spoils, I barely have time for myself, I haven’t even cracked into the novel I brought yesterday. I’ve always enjoyed reading, known at every local book store around campus. What else do I have to do? I have no friends, except on the other side of the world. I do have a boyfriend but he lives in the United Kingdoms, and I’m over in France.

 Life is a dull existence until summer break. Finally I can go home from this hell hole, I got the note in first bell literature, with Mrs. Denglish. A note that will change my life forever. I thought nothing at the time only that I could finally see my Mom, Dad, and Andy. Little did I know what this note would really hold, the fear, terror, and sure madness of what was to come. I would have never left the haven of school.  This is my story, now I don’t expect you to believe me, but it’s true, every word, every paragraph. It’s a little hard to explain but, I’ll make do. I’m about to tell you the true story of train thirty nine.

It was early, the sun barely above the earth, creating a warm orange and red blanket across campus. I was last to wake from my bed. I genially rubbed my eyes and acquired my glasses from the night stand. My roommate was busy in the bathroom, the sounds of the hair dryer rang thought the room. I sat up from my warm covers to meet the toxic fumes of Herbal essences and burning tips. A gag formed in my throat.  I looked at the open bathroom door with a annoyed glare.

“Hey Amber, are you almost done in there?” I called.

“Just five more minutes,” Amber called in a cheery tone.

I removed the covers from my lap and touched my bare feet to the cold wooden floors. A sigh escaped my lips as I sluggishly stood from my haven of sleep. A pair of bunny slippers were placed a foot from our door. The fabric was wore and dirty. I placed each foot into the slippers and grabbed the small blue bag propped up against the bathroom wall. Tiredly I shuffled my feet out of the dorm and down the hall. Once I reached the end of the hallway a metal door blocked my way. Groaning I opened it to reveal a group of stairs, another groan escaped my lips as I began to walk from my floor to the next. My weary legs wished there was a simpler way, haft a sleep I walked to the second floor of our dorm. I have come accustomed to this daily ritual. I continued to walk down the second story hallway until I reached room 203. I knocked three times on the door with a weak wrist calling, “Harry, let me in.” My voice was winy and obviously tired.

A tall boy came sleepily to the door. He was around six foot four, with thick black hair that had yet to combed. A white shirt covered his torso and blue striped bottoms covered the rest. Harry’s eyes were tired and puffed.

“So cows today?” Harry laughed tiredly.

I had forgotten I was wearing my pajamas. A blue tank top and blue bottoms, imprinted with cow jumping over the moon.

“You dork,” he laughed.

“The queen took over the bathroom again,” I said with annoyance.

“Leaving the poor peasant to wash with the commoners,” Harry said in a mocking voice.

“Oh my, what filth, away with you and leave me to reply my face,” I laughed in the same mockery.  

“I don’t think I’ve even seen her without her makeup on,” I said.

“My theory is she is an alien and she needs to keep applying her skin every day or she’ll be discovered,” Harry laughed.

After I stop laughing I asked, “Can I use your shower again.”

“Honestly why do you ask? You use it every day, I think you’re here more than I am,” Harry said.

“If I wasn’t I would surly die from the fumes,” I laughed.

“Well come on in,” Harry walking out of the way.