Gentle chimes echo through the dark and cold room, the light of the phone's outer screen casting a soft glow on the blanket-cocooned form sleeping on the bed. Stirring awake, Steve wrangles his arm free from the warm embrace of his blankets to grab his phone. With a click of a button, he silences the persistent alarm, and his sleepy eyes check the time: 5:15 am.
As consciousness fully takes hold, Steve notices something amiss—the battery is not charged. Grumbling, he kicks his way out of the blankets and follows the tattered and taped-together charger cord to the wall. The confirmation dawns on him: "Great. She didn't pay the power again," Steve mutters to himself, his breath misting in the frigid cold of the unheated trailer.
Unplugging the charger, Steve shoves the cord and a bundle of clothes into his second-hand Jansport bag, a relic two years out of style. He pockets his phone and the meager wad of dollars and loose coins, then shoves his feet into his battered winter boots. Making his way through the trashed trailer he begrudgingly calls home, Steve kicks aside empty and crumpled beer cans, creating a makeshift path.
His journey through the cluttered chaos leads him to the kitchen counter, where a glass bowl holds his house keys. The scene is a tableau of neglect, a reflection of a life disrupted whenever his mother decides to grace the trailer with her presence. In the dim light, Steve grabs his keys, a small but vital talisman in the tumultuous dance of his daily existence. The door creaks open, releasing a gust of cold air as Steve steps into the predawn darkness, ready to face the challenges of another day.
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The shower knob emits a faint squeak as Steve shuts off the water, leaving the gym shower in a lingering silence. Leaning against the cool, tiled walls, he relishes the warmth of the dissipating steam. In the brief interlude before the heat completely vanishes, Steve seizes his towel and begins the ritual of drying off.
Emerging from the steam-filled sanctuary, he steps into the empty locker room, the wet slap of his footsteps echoing against the floor. Towel draped over his shoulder, Steve heads to check his charging phone, the beacon of connection in an otherwise disconnected world.
A lone text message greets him, and Steve, slightly perplexed, unplugs his Blackberry to investigate further.
Jannett: Hey Steve! Sorry to bug you during winter break but mom is on my ass about submitting my college essays early. >:(
She said she’d pay double if you could come by later and help :)
Steve smiles at the proposition; after all, Jannett is not just another one peer he tutored—she's the most beautiful girl in all of Toronto, and Steve gets paid to spend time with her.
Responding quickly, Steve affirms his availability and promises to be there around 8:30 am. With the exchange complete, he sets the phone aside. Hastily dressing, he exits the school gym, locking it behind him with the spare key Coach Graham provided—the one person in his life who seems to genuinely care. Steve reflects on the stark contrast between Coach Graham and his own mother. Slightly embarrassed by his childish fantasy he thinks again how nice it would be if his mother would date a guy more like a coach, but then again coach probably wasn’t his mother’s type. Would beat her when drunk or take another credit card out in her name, maxing it out before skipping town.
Steve pulls the collar of his jacket up, a feeble shield against the biting chill, as he cuts into the park. The bus might have been a faster option, but every loonie and toonie counts when you're scraping together enough to cover the power bill. Observing the lively scenes of snowball fights and couples strolling together, he can't help but cast a sad gaze at the happiness that seems elusive to him. As he turns down a quieter section of the park, a distant commotion catches his attention.
Curiosity triumphs over urgency, and Steve follows the sounds of yelling and jeering. Cresting a small hill, he discovers members of his hockey team engaged in a pick-up game on a small frozen pond, their attention now directed at Greg Hawkins, who's in the process of packing away his gear.
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Spotting Steve, one of the guys hails him "Hagans! Get your gear and get out here. Greggy has to go to his Granny’s to bake cookies!”.
Greg retorts defiantly, “Fuck you, Shane! It’s tradition,”.
Suddenly, another guy, Zack, the team captain and Steve's chief tormentor, Jannett's boyfriend, sneers at him. With taunting words, he goads “ Yeah, Stevie why don’t you get run to Goodwill and grab your gear”
Drawing laughter from everyone except Shane and Greg.
Shane shoots Steve a pitying look, while Greg seizes the opportunity to slip away unnoticed. Steve, his face flushed with embarrassment and shame, feels the familiar sting of anxiety. Yet, anger surges forth, and before he can rein it in, he retorts, "Good one, Zack. But, I’m a little busy right now. Got a text from Jannett, gotta get over there fast. Don’t want to keep her waiting."
Suddenly, the atmosphere shifts, and the laughter and jeering redirect from Steve to Zack. A quick snarl from Zack manages to quell the others. A tense silence hangs in the air as Steve and Zack lock eyes, a silent understanding passing between them. The quiet is broken when Zack points dramatically and yells, “Get 'em!”
In an instant, the dynamic changes, and Steve takes off, boots kicking up snow as he sprints away. The sound of bodies scrambling up the hill follows him, an impromptu chase unfolding in the snowy park.
As Steve sprints through the park, the sound of pursuing footsteps gradually fades behind him. He pushes himself harder, his breath forming misty clouds in the cold winter air. As he reaches the edge of the park, he spots a gap in the trees. Through the bare branches, a glimpse of something catches his eye – the distant outline of a train.
Curiosity mingled with exhaustion, Steve steers toward the mysterious sight. The park gives way to a set of rusted train tracks, and there it is – an old-fashioned train chugging along in the distance. The rhythmic clattering of wheels against tracks reverberates in the quiet winter air.
Steve, panting and bewildered, watches the train with a mix of awe and confusion. It's like nothing he's ever seen before. The train seems to materialize from another era, an antique relic of transportation rolling through the modern world.
Driven by an inexplicable urge, Steve approaches cautiously. The train slows as if beckoning him to come closer. The dim glow of its windows casts a warm light on the surrounding snow, creating an ethereal scene.
Steve dashes towards the side doors of the train just as they swing open, almost like an invitation extended to him. The ticket in his hand glows faintly, its golden surface emitting an otherworldly warmth. As he steps onto the train, the doors close behind him with a soft hiss, shutting out the sounds of his pursuers.
Inside, the train appears both antiquated and strangely timeless. Dimly lit lanterns cast a warm glow on worn but well-maintained wooden panels. The air carries a mixture of scents, reminiscent of leather, aged paper, and an unknown essence that hints at the mystical.
Taking a moment to catch his breath, Steve examines the golden ticket in his hand. Odd symbols and intricate patterns cover its surface, creating an almost hypnotic effect. Before he can ponder its meaning, a deep voice resonates through the train, "Ticket."
Startled, Steve turns to find a figure cloaked in a conductor's uniform, his piercing red eyes peering over a mustache. With a gulp, Steve hands over the golden ticket, and the conductor takes the ticket and rips off a stub and heads it back to Steve with a nod, before disappearing through a door at the end of the car. Steve looks around at the brass and wood interior of the train, before taking a seat on the red lacquered wooden seats next to the window. Zack and his cronies, panting and out of breath, arrive just in time to see the train pull away. Frustration and confusion paint their faces as they watch the mysterious locomotive vanish into the distance.
As the train gains speed, Steve can't help but feel a mixture of relief and excitement. With his adrenaline wearing off, Steve began to grow tired.
“I’ll just take a quick nap before the next stop.”
Steve says to himself as he leans against the cool window, his eyelids suddenly very heavy.
As the darkness of sleep takes him, he hears for a moment the crackle of a speaker say in the conductor's gruff voice, “ Next stop… Transfer Hub.”
In the realm of dreams, Steve experiences a disjointed journey through surreal landscapes. Distorted visions of the fractured realms blend with snippets of his own life—hockey matches, the Toronto library, and fleeting encounters with Jannett. Faces of familiar and unfamiliar entities flicker like shadows against the canvas of his subconscious. Then nothing, as a deep sleep takes him.