Saturday, October 29, 2016

The Mother Whale

Kthunk-kthunk. Kthunk-kthunk. Kthunk-kthunk. Kthunk-kthunk.


I glanced around. I scooted off the bench and grabbed onto the metal pole. Steadying myself, I ran a few steps over to the window and glanced out.

A large expanse of water stretched into the distance. I smushed my face against the glass and tried to look ahead in front of the train. I couldn't see anything. I turned my head to look behind the train without removing my head from the glass. The skin of my face squashed and stretched as I turned my head, rubbing my nose, open lips, and hair against the glass. I could not find the source of the noise.

I peeled my face off the glass and ran to the windows across the train, performing the same face squash-stretching ritual. Nothing.

Dejected, I wandered back to the bench, turned around to face the front of the train, placed my hands on the bench behind me and pushed myself up onto the seat. My feet dangled in front of me. My dad reached over and rubbed my head, his fingers messing up my hair. He made a noise at me, changing my demeanor from disappointed to excited.

"What were you doing, Andrew?" he asked.

"Looking for the mother whale!" I said, matter-of-factly. "I even heard it calling for its baby."

Kthunk-kthunk. Kthunk-kthunk. Kthunk-kthunk. Kthunk-kthunk. 


There was the sound again! Just as I started pushing myself off the bench to run back to the window, a large grey creature sped past the train in the opposite direction, a dark blue stripe along its side. I gasped and ran over to the window, but arrived as the pointed tail on the end disappeared. Behind the fabled creature, I caught a glance of a tall grey pyramid in the distance.

The train slowed to a stop.

A voice said some words that I didn't quite understand as the doors opened. I listened to them, and didn't understand them, but I didn't care: I'd seen the Mother Whale.

"Por favor manténganse alejado de las puertas."

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