#yeah this dot with lines is Pinhead :)

[suddenly-frankenstein]

so uh i just drew some random modern!AU (university AU maybe) Clerval and Frankenstein design???

(i hate myself so i did it in acrylic yeah, better click on pic for slightly better quality)

[song-of-storms162]

Music box

Sky has trouble sleeping but after Twilight and Time shows him a certain item, he can’t help but sleep and dream of the person the music made him think about. For the linked Universe Discord weekly prompt; Music.

The others would speak of their envy on Sky’s ability to sleep anytime, anywhere as when traversing from one Hyrule to another could get confusing and maybe even a little nerve racking. But Sky had never had a problem when it came to sleep, but of course he had his moments. In fact, he was experiencing said moment right now.

The sky was an endless sea of blue-black, the stars drifting across its waves were like little pinheads on fabric. Tiny, miniscule dots of silver, to the point you forget they were there but you know they’re there. Sky was counting stars, over and over again, restarting if he noticed a star that wasn’t there before or if he lost track of how many he had counted. Usually drifting into sleep was nothing short of difficult for him but it seemed the Golden Goddesses decided it was time to let Sky join the insomniacs of the group.

This included Wild, Legend, Time and occasionally Twilight. But it seemed Legend was let off the hook for today and for once Wild was lost in the abyss of dreams. Time was on watch and Twilight...

Sky shifted from his position and looked around, tonight’s sleeping pattern had pitted him next to Twilight. Squinting his eyes, Sky’s searching stopped when he spotted Twilight’s head near Time’s around the fire. Ah, it wasn’t a surprise to the Chosen hero. When one couldn’t sleep, they would most likely join the night watch, conversing with whoever was on duty.

Sky’s feet were already moving him closer to the duo and Sky only snapped into reality when he stood in front of Twilight and Time, both had halted their conversation when he drew near. “Well,” Time cuts the silence. “Fancy seeing you up this late.”

An amused smile reaches their oldest’s lips and Sky felt his cheeks color. “I-uh couldn’t sleep.”

Twilight pats the log he sits on, motioning for Sky to take a seat. “Well, join us Chosen one. Not every night the three of us get to chat like this.”

Sky takes the invitation but notices something in Twilight’s hands as he does so. “What’ve you got there, Twi?”

Twilight flinches and Sky regrets asking when seeing the expression on the Wolf’s face. “This? Oh-um ‘s nothing.”

However Sky doesn’t fail to miss Time hiding a smile behind a hand and all feelings of regret are thrown out the window. “Would you mind if I looked at it?”

Color seeps into Twilight’s cheeks and this time Time makes no effort to hide his laughter. “Let him see it, pup,” says the oldest as he jokingly elbows Twilight. “It’s not something to be ashamed of.”

“But-“ Time cuts Twilight off by quickly snatching the object away from Twilight before tossing it to Sky.

“Be careful with it!” Twilight protests but Time’s eyes are glowing with amusement. “It’s fine pup, i can have another one made and passed in the family if it troubles you that much.”

Sky holds the object delicately in his hands. A small metal box with lines crisscrossing one side of it and an odd metal handle sticking out of another. The remaining sides are finely carved details and Sky can see two letters engraved into it.

L and M.

Sky looks up to the older heroes and find them observing him carefully. “What is this?”

Time and Twilight look at each other before Time answers. “You’ve never seen a music box before?”

“A music box?” Sky inquires as Time motions for him to hand the object over. And after doing so, Time does something Sky doesn’t expect. Time, carefully turns the little handle in one direction and Sky hears the clicking of gears inside the contraption. Sky’s about to ask what Time’s doing when a soft melody fills the air.

Soft, sweet, slow and sleepy, the tune piping out of the metal box is like a gentle caress to one’s soul and ears. Sky feels his legs give out underneath him and his butt lands on the log he was sitting before, but his expression was one of someone being completely entranced. As the melody continued to be warm and loving, Sky can almost see himself back among the clouds of Skyloft, on his Loftwing with his Zelda next to him, softly playing her harp.

Time is the one who gently shakes Sky out of his stupor, the song still playing somewhere in the background. “You’re looking a tad sleepy there, Sky. I think you can fall asleep this time.”

Sky nods, no words could be said that would explain how he was feeling, the memories he was replaying. “I-yeah. Yeah.”

Time smiles, softly. “You can sleep here if you’d like. We’ll play the music box again in case you can’t sleep this time.”

“I’d-“ a yawn escapes Sky’s lips. “I’d like that.”

Twilight carefully unwinds the Sailcloth from Sky’s shoulders and Sky feels the grass tickle him before the warm reds and oranges of the campfire are the last thing he sees.

“Time, Twi?” Sky whispers, eyes closed. “Could we, could we do this again?”

“Of course,” Twilight answers when he sees Time smile bigger at the request. “Get some rest Sky.”

And so Sky sleeps, dreaming of his Zelda and her harp, not knowing what the letters on the Music box mean or that Time and Twilight watch him with soft smiles on their faces.

It seemed a music box club was about to start in their group of nine.

[errantknightess]

Such great heights

Pairing: Noctis/Prompto

Word count: 2,159

Summary: Two dorks get stuck on a Ferris wheel.

[Read on AO3]

Insomnia is a patchwork of black and gold below their feet. Spots of lights litter the ground, flickering in bright clusters like some unknown constellations. Usually it’s hard to see the actual stars with all the light pollution from the city, but from this high up, they’re kind of visible too – pale, but there.

That’s what Prompto tries to focus on, looking up instead of down at the dizzying distance back to earth. They’re not even at the top yet; the Ferris wheel spins so slowly that he can barely feel them move. But he knows it’s carrying them farther away with every second, and he really doesn’t need the reminder. So instead he sits back and stares at the purple sky through the transparent walls of the pod. They’re covered in tiny flecks and scratches, like an image from a badly tuned TV. There’s a thin crack in the plexiglass where it meets the metal frame, and another one right above his head.

“This thing has seen better days,” Prompto observes in a weak voice. “You think it will hold us?”

Noctis shrugs with the same unfazed face he always wears. It’s a good look on him, even in the dim ambient light of the cabin.

“Gladio wouldn’t have let me ride if it wasn’t safe. He’d been fussing about security issues for a week. No worries.”

The nonchalance with which he says it is a bit reassuring. Prompto lets himself relax, melting against the hard plastic bench.

“I’m surprised he didn’t insist on riding with you. As your Shield and all,” he muses.

“Not like he could shield me from much up here,” Noctis snorts. “Imagine swinging his sword in this tiny thing.”

“Right.” Prompto glances up over his shoulder, where he can almost see the car that Ignis and Gladio took. “I hope they’re okay. I mean, Ignis kind of had to fold in half to get in and Gladio’s twice the size of a normal person. That can’t be comfortable.”

“They wanted to ride together anyway,” Noctis says. “They’ll be fine. But yeah, it sure looked bigger from the outside.” He pokes the opposite wall with the toe of his boot; he can’t even stretch his leg all the way. “Sorry about that.”

“I don’t mind,” Prompto says quickly. Noct’s arm brushes against his, skin still chilly from the night air outside.

“That’s good.” Noctis gives him a wry smile. “Cause we’re stuck here for one more spin after this.”

In fact, Prompto does mind a little. Being cramped so close next to Noct never bothers him – but being cramped in a small, flimsy box a hundred meters off the ground? Yeah, that’s a problem. There’s no way to solve it now, though, so Prompto does what he does best and tries to shove it deep down with the rest of his problems. They’re almost halfway through, anyway. He can make it. As long as he doesn’t look down.

He takes a deep breath, clenches his fists and stares ahead, where the sea of lights spills over the horizon.

“This city’s so big,” Noctis says quietly. He sounds a bit scared, too, but in a whole different way. Like he’s overwhelmed to realize how much he’ll be responsible for one day.

“Yeah.” Prompto nudges him with his knee. His leg keeps bouncing nervously. “We don’t really think about it every day, huh? It’s easy to forget. Even though it takes me over an hour just to get back home from school.”

Noctis cranes his neck, the tip of his nose just shy of touching the glass. “Can you see your house from here?”

“Nope, it’s way too far from the center… I can see yours, though.” Prompto grins, pointing at the twin towers of the Citadel shooting up over the rest of the city.

“Smartass,” Noctis snorts. Then he leans over Prompto’s lap, screening his eyes with one hand. “Oh hey, my apartment building is down there, too.”

“This one?” Prompto’s hand wavers. He’s has been there dozens of times, knows the way with his eyes closed, but now all the familiar streets are just a bunch of shiny dotted lines. And he really doesn’t want to look at them for too long.

“There.” Noctis grabs his hand and pulls it over the glass, pointing the way. “See that big Ebony billboard? It’s just to the left.”

“Oh.” Prompto nods, staring at their linked hands. His palm feels sweaty in Noctis’s grip. His head starts to spin, even though he’s making an effort not to look down. Noctis is still leaning on him, and still doesn’t let go. Prompto wants to make light of it, scrambles for a joke, but he bites his tongue just in time.

And then he really bites his tongue. The car jolts, the metal bearings screech like a dying zu, and the lights outside stop getting away.

“Ow,” Noct groans from where he’s crumpled in a heap on top of him. He’s clutching his nose, like he’s face-planted into the window. Prompto grabs him by the shoulders and carefully helps him sit back up.

“You okay?” he asks, hands hovering uncertainly over Noct’s face.

“Yeah.” Noctis pulls his own hand away, and it looks like that’s true. He looks around with a frown. “We’ve stopped?”

“Seems like it,” Prompto says, trying and failing to keep his voice from cracking. “What do you think happened?”

Noctis pulls a face. “No idea. The lights are still on, though. Can’t be anything serious. They’re probably gonna turn it on again in a moment.”

Prompto almost believes him. Wants so badly to believe him. “But what if they don’t? What if we have to climb down on our own?”

“I could try warping us both if I have to,” Noctis says. “Better just wait, though. They must have some way to get people down safely if they can’t make it move.”

“Right,” Prompto mutters, more to himself. “That makes sense. Figures they can’t risk it. And they should play it extra safe, since they know you’re here.” He looks at Noct and watches his face fall between two blinks. Neither of them voices what they both must be thinking: what if that’s exactly the reason?

They sit listening to the silence, stock still save for the shiver rattling Prompto’s body. Noctis sure must feel it too for how close they’re pressed side by side, but if he does, he doesn’t say anything. Prompto starts counting the passing seconds, then stops as they turn into minutes: it’s just making him even more nervous.

But nothing happens. There are no shouts, no blaring sirens, no commotion in the brightly lit patch of the fairgrounds as he peeks down between his knees through that damn transparent floor. In a way, this weird calm is comforting. If something was going to happen, it would be happening already.

The pod sways slightly, and for a blessed half second Prompto thinks they’re starting to move again. But then it sways once more, harder, and it’s nothing like the smooth, steady climb from before.

“What’s going on?” He hates how high his voice sounds, even though that’s the last thing he should be worried about now. The car stills for a moment, then trembles again, in a short, uneven burst.

“It’s just the wind,” Noctis says, and now that Prompto listens for it, there is that faint familiar whistle underneath all the ominous rattling. Still, he pulls as far from the wall as he can, until his shoulder is buried under Noct’s armpit and Noct’s elbow might leave a permanent imprint between his ribs. He doesn’t care. And apparently Noctis doesn’t either, because when he shifts, it’s only to reach for Prompto’s arm and squeeze lightly.

“I didn’t know you were scared of heights,” he mutters. There’s no teasing bite to it. He sounds almost apologetic, as if he had anything to apologize for. Prompto lets out an awkward laugh, a near perfect imitation of the squeaking metal around them.

“I didn’t know either, dude. Never been high enough to find out.”

“Lucky you.” Noctis laughs too, and Prompto’s stomach backflips like it always does. “When I was a kid, I got stuck on the ceiling once.”

“What?”

“Yeah, it was dumb,” Noct says flatly; his fingers tap a broken rhythm on Prompto’s wrist. “There are those beams way up across the ceiling in the training hall… And I was finally just getting the hang of warping, and I thought it would be fun to walk on them. You know, like in video games?” He rolls his eyes, like he’s too embarrassed to meet Prompto’s. “So I warped. And it was pretty cool. But then I dropped my sword, and I couldn’t warp back anymore. And there was no other way down. So I sat there. For hours. Gladio was absolutely pissed when he found me. But then he made fun of me for weeks, so… yeah. Now you can too, I guess.”

Noctis looks up at last, and they stare at each other while Prompto fights to get the words through his throat. He doesn’t feel like laughing.

“Dude, that’s…” His mouth feels dry at the very thought. He leans back and the skin at the base of his spine crawls before he hits the bench, like for a blink it just wasn’t there and he was about to tip over into the void. “Yikes. Instant trauma.”

“I was trying to distract you.” Noctis looks at him sideways, scrunching up his nose to match Prompto’s own grimace. “Not helping, huh?”

“Nope.” Prompto cringes into him and clenches his fist into the leg of Noctis’s pants. Maybe if he holds onto something, his body will stop feeling like he’s seconds away from falling. He stares at his feet, trying to remind himself they’re still firmly planted on the floor, but it really does nothing when through that floor he can clearly see the matchbox buildings and pinhead figures all the way down, down, down…

“Hey.” Noct grabs him by the chin and pulls his head up, fixing him with a serious ice-blue gaze. “Don’t look at it. Look at me.”

So Prompto does. It makes his stomach drop the same way, even though the specks of light in Noct’s eyes are so much closer than the ones on the ground. But Noct’s fingers are holding him firm, warm on his skin, and he knows it’s fine. It’s fine. He won’t fall.

He breathes out slowly. The air swirls between them, hitting him hot in the face. Prompto blinks against it, but can’t bring himself to open his eyes again. The tips of Noct’s hair tickle his cheek. Another puff of breath melts on his lips, and then he tastes warmth and chapped skin and the cloying ghost of cotton candy that they both stuffed themselves with right before the ride. It’s even sweeter now. Prompto leans in to chase it, to drink in as much of it as he can. Noct’s mouth is soft and shy, pressing back lightly, just enough to make Prompto’s breath hitch. As far as distraction goes, this is much better.

His head is spinning. Everything starts to sway. Then Noctis yelps against his lips, and Prompto realizes it’s not just in his head. His eyes fly open as he loses his balance and tumbles backward. Noct’s forehead slams into his, so hard he sees white. By the time he blinks it away, he’s slumped against the wall of the pod; Noctis is braced on his elbow over him, and the city lights are slowly crawling away underneath them.

“That took quicker than I thought,” Noctis says. There’s no relief in his voice. It almost sounds disappointed.

He skims his fingers over the throbbing spot between Prompto’s eyebrows. It’s brief, barely there, but Prompto still feels his skin tingle even as Noct pulls away to give him space. Not that there’s a lot of space he can get. When he sits up, they’re face to face once again, and Noctis’s eyes are the bluest they’ve ever been.

Prompto smiles awkwardly – he knows it’s awkward, it has to be; his mouth is twitching and stretching and he can’t control it, no more than he can control his frantic heartbeat. The sinking feeling in his stomach is pulling him down like a lead weight. The gaping space down below is just waiting to swallow him.

So Prompto does the only thing that makes sense: closes his eyes and tucks that stupid smile against Noct’s lips.

It tickles when Noctis smiles back, filling him with a surprised laugh. His hand finds Prompto’s, brushing gently over his knuckles as he laces their fingers together. Holding him safely. He doesn’t let go for a moment while the wheel slowly dips to finish the first round.

When they start to soar again, Prompto is not afraid of falling anymore. He feels like flying.

[rebustein94-blog]

Wanting to Believe

You know, nobody can really explain the Marfa lights. Nobody can tell for sure why they appear on the horizon almost every night or what they are. They remain, in fact, one of America’s last great unsolved mysteries. These flickering bursts of color against the dark. Orange, green, white, red. Just there, against the hills. And they’re so simple, you’d think somebody would have gotten it by now. But no. Quite the opposite, actually. Marfa revels in how vast and unexplained their night sky is.

Which maybe they should.

See, one night in 1883, a man was riding along outside what is now Marfa, Texas. He saw, up on the hill, strange lights flickering. He figured they were campfires, and when he later found out they weren’t, it blew his mind. He told someone else, and it blew their mind, too, I guess. That second guy told someone else, I assume, and on and on and now we’ve got this entire viewing platform a few miles outside Marfa, built exclusively for tourists to stand and watch the skies after the sun has set. In the hopes that they, too, will experience the unexplained. 

And people have. People do. Thousands of people have reported seeing these lights.

When I walked up onto the platform last night, the thing was packed with people. The sun had just tucked itself under the horizon, leaving behind bright pink streaks above us. I was there for over an hour, and by the time I left, the pink had curled away into the night. A spiderweb of clouds remained, and large patches of stars blazed through them.

Did you know that all the stars we can see only make up, like, a single percentage of our galaxy? Which in turn only takes up a pinhead-drop amount of space in a wall-less room? Is just one of infinite galaxies, surrounding infinite stars? And that the universe is actually still expanding from the original Big Bang, meaning more pinheads are being created all the time, and that almost none of it has been discovered or explored?

Did you know that?

Anyway, there were the stars and me and a lot of other people, waiting for the UFOs or whatever to appear. A large group of elderly was off to my left, further down the platform. They were led by a hunched and waddling crow of a woman, who squawked and shouted every word she said. 

“There they are!” she hollered, pointing off to our right.

Not about to miss anything, everyone on the platform followed her finger. Whether they were in her crew or not. Sure enough, four orange dots glimmered on the hill. A fifth blinked red next to them.

“Five of ‘em. Ya see?!” She moved between the members of her group, poking them and thrusting her claw at the hills. “Over there! One, two, three, four, five!”

For a minute, I was speechless. I mean, there they were. I’ll be damned.

But the red one blinked on, then off, then on again too regularly. And, kind of all at once, everyone on the platform realized it was just a radio tower. Except the Crow.

“I never in mah life,” she said. “You can’t say that’s not real.” 

“Oh, sure,” said her companions. “I see ‘em. Of course.”

“Unbelievable!”

“Mmhm.”

“Little white and orange ones. Ya see? They ain’t campfires.”

“Wow, yes. Indeed. Mm.”

And, slowly but surely, it dawned on me that the orange and white lights were cars on a highway. 

But the Crow continued to waddle around, shouting about the strange ghosts in the hills. Trying to take everyone’s breath away. After a while, a man who had been standing next to me, wearing a baseball cap and a thick mustache, looked at the ground. He rubbed the toes of his boots into the dirt. Sniffed. Calmly, he strode over to the woman. He approached her, cleared his throat

“Ma’am?” he drawled. “That’s a...highway over there. Those are cars.”

“But there wouldn’t have been a highway there in 1883,” she protested. “The man who saw the lights wouldn’t have seen that.”

“That’s...true.” The man scratched his head. “Um. But there is one now.”

“Oh, thank you,” she said quickly. He gave her a little nod, and sauntered off, head low.

She was quiet for some time. The lights kept dancing, miles away. Just as her group was leaving, she said softly, “But they ain’t moved. Cars’d be movin’. Those lights is still...”

Another group replaced the pack of elderly. They were all Texans except for a couple from Colorado, who had come to visit some relatives. The Colorado couple kept pointing to things and trying to believe them.

“I think I saw a flash of green,” the woman said.

“So hard to tell,” said the man, sounding sad.

By that time, the sun was really gone and everyone had abandoned the right side of the view, where the highway apparently was. Now, all eyes were pointed left where, if you looked fast enough, you could catch glimmers of green. I’ll admit, I saw a streak of white shooting down into the valley that I can’t explain. I’ll carry that with me, silently. But other than that...

“You know me,” some guy in the new group was saying. “I don’t believe in anything. Ghosts, creatures. UFOs. But I like to see ‘em. You know. See if--”

“There!” The Colorado woman shot up a hand. “I saw a little... Did you see it?”

They all leaned forward, hushed. 

“Could have been a satellite,” someone whispered. “But I don’t know...”

“I didn’t see it,” said the guy who didn’t believe in anything. But there was a bend to his voice. Something in him that clearly gave in and made him squint into the darkness just as hard as everyone else.

Nobody said anything for a few moments. Just watching.

The nonbeliever broke the silence. “Y’all ready to go?”

And, with a collective sigh, they left. 

Personally, I didn’t see anything. Except maybe a white streak.

You know, I was thinking about Santa Claus while I was out there on the platform. My mother tells me that, in third grade, I ruined Santa for one of my friends who didn’t Know. Whatever memory I had of this has burnt up and drifted away, so I just have to take her word for it. Third grade was the year I found out, so maybe I needed to shove my anger and betrayal onto someone else. Or maybe I felt superior. Or I just felt bad they didn’t Know.

Either way, even after I Knew, and everybody Knew, it didn’t really seem to matter. Because the next year, they did this complicated calculation on the news on Christmas Eve to figure out how long it takes Santa to travel around the whole world in a single night.

Why would they do that if they knew he wasn’t real?

***

The night after the lights, I was leaving from the train station in Alpine, which is about twenty miles east of Marfa. When I got there, I could hear mariachi music coming from somewhere around the back, by the tracks. As I rounded the corner, I came upon a large cluster of people, all milling about, listening to a three-person band and eating donuts. 

“Well,” I thought, surprised. 

Feeling oddly invisible and out of place, I wove my way through the crowd. I sat on the curb. Plopped my bags down next to me. And that was about the time I realized nobody else there had bags. 

“Well,” I thought. 

A woman standing nearby honed in on me. She leaned over. “Bet you’re glad you’re traveling today, huh?”

“What’s going on?” I asked. I felt like maybe I was about to be sacrificed to the train. Or swept up in a colony of traveling swingers. I don’t know. 

“There’s a gallery inside,” the woman explained vaguely. 

“Oh, cool,” I said, wanting our interaction to be over so that I could be confused by myself.

I didn’t see where the guy came from, which makes this story even better, I think. As far as I’m concerned, he strode up with sure feet and tall pride out of the very dust of the desert and a forgotten time. He was taller than I am. Wore khakis and cowboy boots and a bright blue Amtrak jacket. Brilliant green aviators hid his eyes. And he had this perfect, hypnotic Texas drawl. 

In any case, he appeared next to me. 

“Where you goin’ to?” he asked. 

“El Paso.” I was still squatting on the curb, and staring up at him. 

He nodded solemnly. “Good place.” He looked around at all the people. “I spose you’re wonderin’ what’s goin’ on here today?”

“You know, it crossed my mind.” 

“Well.” He hitched up his pants. “You got three groups of people here. One is travelers. Two is people who work with Amtrak.”

He never explained the third.

“See, we’re trying to expand this line,” he continued. “You can get to anywhere from Alpine. People don’t realize that. It’s an important stop. You got New Orleans. Los Angel-ees. Chicago. We’re petitioning to get the line to come through here more often. So they just refinished the station here. As a kind of incentive. What they’re most proud of is the bathrooms.”

“So today’s the grand opening?”

“In a sense.” He licked his lips. Raised his eyebrows. “We got donuts inside.”

I figured it was probably time to stand up. So I did, and slapped the dust off my thighs. Talking up at him had been staring to make me feel off-balance and small. 

“I heard,” I said, “that this new national budget proposal is getting rid of the long-distance lines. Is that just a whisper on the wind, or...?”

His face went blank. He gazed over my shoulder down the tracks. 

“Yeah,” he said sadly. “They try this every five years or so. But our governor always stops it from happening. We’ve had tons of men from around here--in Alpine-- in DC. And they keep us alive. But...we’re not as strong as we used to be, you know. And now, we’ll be hanging on for dear life for the next few years.” His voice got very low at the end. He shrugged. Stared off into the distance for a moment. Just as I was about to say something, his aviators snapped back to me. “How long were you here for?”

“Just a few days. I saw the Marfa lights last night. Or...didn’t.”

He put his hands behind his back. Nodded thoughtfully. 

“Have you seen them?” I asked.

“I think they’re an optical illusion,” he said confidentially. “I seen green and red flashes. Don’t know what it is. But I don’t think its aliens.”

“No?”

“Well, why the hell would they be hanging around Marfa, Texas for over a hundred years?!”

And he laughed a low, gentle laugh. 

Just then, a new light came from down the tracks. Blinding against the mid-morning sun.

“Ahh,” he breathed. He turned to everyone standing around the station. Cupped his hands and called, “Train’s comin’!”

There was a rush of excitement. Everyone went up to the railing against the tracks and leaned over. I followed their gaze. That bright white spot was coming towards us, moving in quickly from the east.

“This never gets old,” the man murmured to me. His voice was wistful and faraway. “I feel like I’m in an MGM movie. With the music... Just beautiful.” 

As the train thrummed into the station, everyone had their phones out. They snapped pictures and waved to the conductor. In the heat and wind of the engine, the man I had been talking to stood with one boot poised on the curb. His hands folded neatly, elbow resting against the railing. He smiled lightly, and looked, for all the world, filled with the ancient, instinctive grace of the frontier. Which was beautiful, and almost sad.

As I was getting onto the train, I looked for him among the beaming, pride-bursting Amtrak employees. But he was gone. 

As we churned our way out of Alpine, I saw a massive, shining pile of car bumpers in someone’s backyard, right up along the tracks. As I watched, a long, lean man, smoking a cigarette, tossed another bumper onto the pile. A young boy stood next to him. The man clapped his hands together. He took the cigarette from his mouth and, slowly, held it out to the boy. The boy took it. The train moved on, and they vanished. Left behind in the debris and dirt of their life in Alpine. 

I really don’t know why I would have told my friend about Santa Claus before he deserved to Know. 

(El Paso, TX)