[2nd Sem - Episode 2.02] "The Keening"
Jul. 20th, 2011 02:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kc_obrienMy first keening was the day I started work at the train station.
Part of me thinks it's funny, a few years on now, that the Stationmaster always brings in newbies on the seventh of the month. Our first keening is our first day, because if you can't take it, then you won't cut it in the job. Before then, I'd been working on an assembly line in what used to be a warehouse where we sorted through spent shell casing to see what could be reused as-is and what pieces would need to be melted down and recast. It was tedious as hell, so I relished at any opportunity to get the hell out of there.
After getting through the interview process, the Stationmaster brought me in for my first day. I was going to be to work on the platforms, a job that was equal parts heavy lifting (between cargo and personal effects) and the gentle, charismatic job of dealing with many people and diffusing their issues (always a concern being the first rail station in from the militarized zone). The day started out blandly enough, with two freight trains moving through. But it was weird, seeing as none of the general bustle I associated with the place (from traveling inland as a boy and what I saw during the interview process) were there.
And then I heard the keening.
It started as a low murmur, seeming to grow out of thin air. After a moment's search, I noticed a small woman standing near the end of the main platform, just at the edge of the tunnel. The sound grew deeper; louder. Her hands rose into the air, up to the sky that was far from the station's floor. Another voice joined, shrill and sharp but just as powerful. I won't lie; it made me jump right out of my skin. I turned around to find another woman, tall and elegant, her arms raised high above her just like the first.
Where the hell did they come from? I asked myself as the chill rolled down my back.
"It's the keening." The Stationmaster said, resting a hand on my shoulder.
"What the hell is that?"
"On the seventh of every month, because seven is a divine number, you know, the train comes in from the hospital four clicks from the militarized zone." His voice was low and direct, taking on that tone that veterans got sometimes when they knew that they were explaining the horrors of war to someone who just didn't know.
"Oh?" I asked, because I just didn't know and his grizzled voice was the only thing keeping me from fleeing back to my old job on the dissassembly line.
"They mourn for those who are on the train. Keening a pathway into heaven for their immortal souls."
Another three voices had taken up the keen, a cacophony of anguish ringing off the vaulted ceilings. "Who are they?"
"No one, son." His hand on my shoulder tightened. "That's how they get in when you're not looking. They don't get in. They're simply here."
A train whistle reverberated through the station and seemed to fit perfectly in pitch with the keening, mingling with the disparate voices and becoming one sound. My ears ached to hear it, and my new boss squeezed my shoulder hard.
"Mack, you can take off if you need to, but someone has to see to them. If you can't be that someone, I won't blame you, but-"
"I'll do it," I replied firmly. I don't know how he could hear me with that chilling sound around us, but somehow he understood, nodding as the train pulled in. With a final sounding of the horn, the keening was done.
Slowly, the rest of the workers emerged from the little hiding places off of the platforms. Many of them looked at me and nodded, like I had endured an initiation and come through a devilish right of passage; that by staying I had become one of them. I looked around and the women who keened for the dead had vanished just as quickly as they appeared.
"Bashees," the tall black redcap that the rest of the workers called Lex said as he came up on the other side of me. "Give me the fucking creeps."
"Watch it," the Stationmaster chided him, releasing my shoulder, "it's serious work we do here. Have some respect."
Lex stared at him a second, "Yes sir."
Large side doors opened on the four cars of the train. Inside MPs stood at attention, guarding their fallen brothers and sisters, securing them into our hands.
I've heard twenty-nine keenings since then. In that time, I've seen new hires come and go, scared and bewildered by what they endured. But every time, the Stationmaster and I stand and bear witness, unable to hide like the other men do. Drawn just that little bit more than we're repulsed by the dire sound. Praying, always praying (though we never talk about it) that it's the last keening we'll hear.
==
Welcome to the Second Semester of "30 Days of Fic." Today's prompt was to write a story that takes place in a train station.
For a full rundown on my Second Semester of 30 Days of Fic, please click here for future prompts and to find all the stories I've created.
Part of me thinks it's funny, a few years on now, that the Stationmaster always brings in newbies on the seventh of the month. Our first keening is our first day, because if you can't take it, then you won't cut it in the job. Before then, I'd been working on an assembly line in what used to be a warehouse where we sorted through spent shell casing to see what could be reused as-is and what pieces would need to be melted down and recast. It was tedious as hell, so I relished at any opportunity to get the hell out of there.
After getting through the interview process, the Stationmaster brought me in for my first day. I was going to be to work on the platforms, a job that was equal parts heavy lifting (between cargo and personal effects) and the gentle, charismatic job of dealing with many people and diffusing their issues (always a concern being the first rail station in from the militarized zone). The day started out blandly enough, with two freight trains moving through. But it was weird, seeing as none of the general bustle I associated with the place (from traveling inland as a boy and what I saw during the interview process) were there.
And then I heard the keening.
It started as a low murmur, seeming to grow out of thin air. After a moment's search, I noticed a small woman standing near the end of the main platform, just at the edge of the tunnel. The sound grew deeper; louder. Her hands rose into the air, up to the sky that was far from the station's floor. Another voice joined, shrill and sharp but just as powerful. I won't lie; it made me jump right out of my skin. I turned around to find another woman, tall and elegant, her arms raised high above her just like the first.
Where the hell did they come from? I asked myself as the chill rolled down my back.
"It's the keening." The Stationmaster said, resting a hand on my shoulder.
"What the hell is that?"
"On the seventh of every month, because seven is a divine number, you know, the train comes in from the hospital four clicks from the militarized zone." His voice was low and direct, taking on that tone that veterans got sometimes when they knew that they were explaining the horrors of war to someone who just didn't know.
"Oh?" I asked, because I just didn't know and his grizzled voice was the only thing keeping me from fleeing back to my old job on the dissassembly line.
"They mourn for those who are on the train. Keening a pathway into heaven for their immortal souls."
Another three voices had taken up the keen, a cacophony of anguish ringing off the vaulted ceilings. "Who are they?"
"No one, son." His hand on my shoulder tightened. "That's how they get in when you're not looking. They don't get in. They're simply here."
A train whistle reverberated through the station and seemed to fit perfectly in pitch with the keening, mingling with the disparate voices and becoming one sound. My ears ached to hear it, and my new boss squeezed my shoulder hard.
"Mack, you can take off if you need to, but someone has to see to them. If you can't be that someone, I won't blame you, but-"
"I'll do it," I replied firmly. I don't know how he could hear me with that chilling sound around us, but somehow he understood, nodding as the train pulled in. With a final sounding of the horn, the keening was done.
Slowly, the rest of the workers emerged from the little hiding places off of the platforms. Many of them looked at me and nodded, like I had endured an initiation and come through a devilish right of passage; that by staying I had become one of them. I looked around and the women who keened for the dead had vanished just as quickly as they appeared.
"Bashees," the tall black redcap that the rest of the workers called Lex said as he came up on the other side of me. "Give me the fucking creeps."
"Watch it," the Stationmaster chided him, releasing my shoulder, "it's serious work we do here. Have some respect."
Lex stared at him a second, "Yes sir."
Large side doors opened on the four cars of the train. Inside MPs stood at attention, guarding their fallen brothers and sisters, securing them into our hands.
I've heard twenty-nine keenings since then. In that time, I've seen new hires come and go, scared and bewildered by what they endured. But every time, the Stationmaster and I stand and bear witness, unable to hide like the other men do. Drawn just that little bit more than we're repulsed by the dire sound. Praying, always praying (though we never talk about it) that it's the last keening we'll hear.
==
Welcome to the Second Semester of "30 Days of Fic." Today's prompt was to write a story that takes place in a train station.
For a full rundown on my Second Semester of 30 Days of Fic, please click here for future prompts and to find all the stories I've created.
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Date: 2011-07-24 07:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-28 04:04 am (UTC)