trails in the desert.

A little backstory: A creative writing assignment based on a foreign correspondent travels trough china. My teacher loved and has a signed copy :/ a bit disturbing but lets get on with it.  




Tracks in the desert
 
The tearing sounds reduced to the frictionless hum of steel on tracks. The desert warmed up and glowed against my tired eyes, frightful of the light, I nodded off for a while... The brakes screeched somberly and the train stopped... The desert was still there and with the feeling of numbing pain in my legs I gathered the thought to stretch them on the dunes. I walked troughthrough the cloth bound housings of the train to the conductor and requested to what was happening and if there was time to stretch my legs outside. "we arr taking wuata.. outside. little. okay."
I nodded peacefully and had him open the door. He stepped out with me and almost instantly regretted having stepped into the badlands but he had a look of expectance on his face... as if something could possibly reach us here. "How long will it take?" I directed at the conductor "twe-nty minu-tes"
I heard something duly strange at that time. A low chime of a cyclist's bell rung in my ears and I wondered before seeing a Chinese lady walking a bicycle trough the desert. I was stunned,; the clothes were a stark white, contrasting the coal black eyes and hair that fused with the desert and with sandy ankles and weary legs she walked up to me while casting a greeting smile at the conductor. "Do you speak english English?"
"Yes, yes i do" I stammered. I felt confounded and utterly confused as to what was taking place. The most striking thing was her voice, not a hint off the Chinese accent garbled her speech as with the conductor. I thought all this before I noticed the intense staring she gave my eyes and the serious demeanor with which the message was brought.
 
"Your train leaves in twenty-seven minutes, Have you ever read the works of Anthony Trollop?"
...
This can't be happening. I was in the middle of the Taklamakan desert and hundreds of miles from the nearest town such a beauty could have embarked from.
"Yes I know who Anthony Trollop is"
"Are you familiar with his book "The Eustace Diaries"
I panicked and remembered the various odds and ends. It had been twenty seven years since I had consumed it and none of it specifically stood out.
 
...We talked for what seemed an eternity or a dream...
 
"You will be late for your train"
My mind woke up.
"But I, I love you"
Why did I say that?
"Silly person, you will be late for your train"
I felt the cold desert air between my sweaty hands and the Tian Shian Mountains laughing at my awkwardness"
"Give me your name card so we can talk more about Trollop and English"
I had none of them but my travel companion George whom I had neglected had some in his pack. I floundered on the dunes and rushed through the carriages to my assigned seat. George was still asleep using his backpack as a pillow.
"Sorry, I need this"
He cursed slowly and I shunned. The front compartment held the cards hostage and while my fingers hurriedly pried one of them out the bell rang and we began moving. 
"Shit!"
I scribbled my name on the card and ejected it out the right hand window.
It flew into the sand and the Chinese lady scrabbled in the sand for the card and smiled a smile I will remember for a long time. I waved and let time tell its tale.
 
When I arrived at my flat in Hong Kong seven months later I was surprised to find a personal letter stamped and sent to me. It was obviously from the Chinese lady I had met in the desert. There was a stamp of Mao's communist China in the corner.
 

thingamajings

Jumped the shark. Decided to startup this thingamajing for all my thoughts and writing. Better get to it i guessssszzzzzzzzz.