“Autumn Leaves”
Brown snow riddled the sides of the endless cobblestone sidewalks, adulterated by the many passerby through these once lively streets. Since they’ve arrived, the city shuts down at dark. This warranted angst, because the once vibrant essence from the many happenings in town inspired me to participate in the proliferating excitement. For some reason it didn’t bother me too much. Its was quite surreal to see actually. The lack of the extraneous hubbub was comforting. The sun had set, but it still cast its glorious gaze of blue and orange from below the horizon. The last whisper of serenity before nightfall. The streetlamp ten feet in front of me slowly began to illuminate the unfolding street ahead, reflecting off of the chilled stone as well as the marred snow banks garnered aside.  I had never seen a streetlamp turn on before, or at least I have never noticed the phenomenon. Come to think of it, I don’t think I have ever noticed how beautiful the city was during dusk. I had always been in a rush to get to work. I was late that night.
Earlier that day, my friends and I were watching trains rush by the outer ridges of town. We would yell at them, through rocks at them, try to run onto them, whatever we could do to pass the time in the miserably cold winter months. It was better than freezing in our homes by ourselves. There had never been so many trains to come through town within any given week than I had seen for the past two days. Later in the afternoon, before I was leaving, I returned home to tell my mother goodnight like any other night. The house was ransacked, drawers throughout the house were flung open and the windows were agape. I foolishly thought nothing of it.
After my scenic trudge to work, I finally approached the facade of the Chateau. The Chateau was the nicest hotel in the city. The exterior emulated an antiquated ruin, somewhat resembling a victorian castle which gave the whole complex a grandiose ambience that felt sort of menacing upon first glance. The tall towers of the building were draped with long red banners with an unfamiliar insignia which were not there a day before. I also foolishly did not pay attention to this either. The interior heavily contrasted. It had a contemporary spirit which comforted all of the sorts of people who were patrons of the Chateau. Modern art littered the walls of the very lurid lobby as people in gaudy raiment sipped c***tails. The same drunk of a piano player was playing the same song he always does at sunset. It was a french jazz single that I never learned the name of. It killed me I never did. He was a very talented man even when he was inebriated from alcohol and possibly opiates. Anytime he would speak he would slur his speech tremendously. It made me erupt into laughter each attempt he made to speak. I made my way past the wealthy masses which congregated  nightly to the restaurant where I bussed tables to make very little money. They never paid the little they gave me on time. That aggravated me to no end. I made my way into the very noisy kitchen were I worked in squalid conditions. Scummy dishes piled up to great heights every night because the elderly pity-hire of a dishwasher took way too many smoking breaks and naps. Walking on the floors was an arduous task for they were always slippery with excess grease and grim. Often waiters would slip and drop the dog s*** we were serving. This kitchen was full of brutes who knew not even an inkling of culinary craftsmanship. The ignoramus of a head head chef was always haphazardly putting things together hoping it would pass as edible food. Poor cuts of meat cooked poorly accompanied with frozen vegetables was a favorite among our clientele. For some reason people came back night after night to eat complete s***. Every night I would see a whole dining room of people engaging in coprophagia and pretending their meal was impeccably assembled. People always told me to send compliments to the chef as I picked up their dishes. I never relayed these lies.
My ogre of a boss approached me with pace, his bald head was a ruby hue onset by his short temper. “Why the hell are you late!” I had been so used to him yelling that I had not paid much attention to his fit. “Relax, it’s only ten past seven. I didn’t ruin anyone’s schedule” I replied in an overly snarky manor. He then grabbed my shirt and laid a swift and open palm on my cheek. A great pang traversed through not only my face but my entire body. My skin transformed from a light brown tone into the same shade of his now sweating face. “‘...ruin anyone’s schedule!‘ Look inside that dining room boy! We have a packed house full of special guests! Don’t screw with me tonight Antoine!”  At his point, the busy kitchen came to a screeching halt to witness his tirade. He then began to drag me to the small portal window which served as the only barrier between the two very different universes. The room was filled with many men that resembled himself. Large military men who were wearing the same insignia on their shoulder’s that was prominently displayed on the banners outside. Smearing my face against the small window which was now gathering moisture from my frantic panting, he whispered gingerly in my ear, “Get to work, gypsy boy.” This remark terrified me. He had called me a plethora of unsettling things in the past, but none as specific (as well as mindless) as “gypsy boy”.
Some time had passed and it was now the middle of my dish. I had gone into the loud and crowded dining room many times to pick up these mysterious soldiers dishes, each time I was given questioning as well as sinister looks. This brought great discomfort. I was now on edge, but I didn’t know why. I was hit by a surge of paranoia. I kept this feeling submerged as I worked. The dishwasher was asleep again, so I just kept adding to the multitude of dining-ware and utensils, covering up the unbearable smell of rotten and undercooked meat with dish soap, which did a horrendous job of masking the smell. I was summoned by a chef who did not take too kindly to me by an annoying whistle, the kind which incorporates your fingers to exponentially amplify the awful noise emitted by is poorly kept teeth and fingernails. As I approached, he gestured a bowl of crudely prepared soup in front of my face, which further annoyed me. “Well do you want me to serve it or not?” I snapped at him. “No. Not yet.” He then sipped some of the sable salt water from the bowl, gargled it in the back of his raspy throat, and then proceeded in spitting it out back into the bowl. “Now I want you to serve it.”
“That’s revolting!”
“I know. And you’re going to bring it to table thirty two.”
“There’s no way you...”
“I’ll have you fired well before you finish your sentence, Antoine. Now, go serve this to table thirty two.”
I reluctantly took the soup and made my way past the kitchen door into the lobby. Walking on the hideous red carpet of the dining room, I made my way to the soup’s unfortunate owner. This went against my ethical standards, but earning steady money was more important to me than any ethical standards I may have had. I finally placed the soup in front of a man whose chest was covered in tiny little medals. The other men at the table did not have anything on their uniforms except the foreign symbol on their shoulder’s. As I was walking away, he condescendingly waved  his index and middle finger at me, summoning me like a slave. All of the sudden he forcefully grabbed my shoulder and whispered something in another language into my ear that I could not understand. I did what I do to all guests that tell me anything, nod my head and walked away, however, I walked away faster than I have ever walked before. People at other tables turned around in their seats to watch me frantically walk through the kitchen doors, each one of them giving me direful looks. I had begun to panic, becoming short of breath and sweating profusely. I rushed past all my despised co-workers to the alley way outside the exit doors. I bashfully opened the large doors and was greeted with a great sense ease. The frigid winter air instantly suffocated my panic attack like a pathetic campfire. I laid my back against the cold brick which soothed my entire body in bliss. I took I minute to unwind from the stress and anxiety that presented itself that night.
This peace was short lived, for I heard footsteps and the same unintelligible language from earlier coming closer and closer to me. Frantically walking out of the alley way, I turned a corner onto the main street to by greeted by an amiable rifle butt. I was now unconscious.
****
My eyes slowly began to regain full vision as I awoke sometime later from a groggy slumber. I found myself to be on a train car. I had never been on one before. It saddened me on how underwhelming the experience truly was. The train was packed wall to wall with mangy people covered in an obnoxious myriad of outerwear. Everyone that wasn’t weeping was crying silently, to themselves.  One did not have any room to move to their likening. There was a thick haze of icy breath that accumulated right above everyone’s heads in the car. I believe I saw an elderly woman’s dying breath, dissipating as quickly as it was formed into crystalized air. The whole experience was incredibly morbid.
I had no idea where I was or where I was going. I had never seen this part of the country before. None of us knew of the horror that was yet to come.

I used to love trains.