Like a Runaway Train: Desiderare Domus

An excerpt of my novel in the authing, Desiderare Domus. This is an unfinished, unedited version of what will one day be the novel's climax.


~ ~ ~



The doors open, the luster of the grimy walls dancing amidst travelers and runaways, like the very light, the very hope at the end of the tunnel they so await.
There is a man, holding the hand of his lover, gazing far ahead, down the tracks, impatient.
There is a mother, careening her neck in every which way, searching for her roaming child.
There are students.
Teachers.
Artists.
Faimiles.
Photographers.
Lawyers.
Everyone wishing for an escape stands idly, the call of their refuge growing louder and louder as the time clicks on.
Tick tock.
Tick tock.
Amongst them, we find her.
Yes, there she is, coming through the station doors.
Her face is stained in unforgiving streaks of pink, and the blue of her eyes seem to be swimming so fast. So fast, i'm afraid, that sooner or later they may leak, and drown the girls sweet face in a swift flood of guilt, dismay, and salty tears.
Oh, I have a feeling she'd despise that. She was never one to gift her emotions to the rest of us.
Her long tangle of hair falls over her cheeks, in her eyes.
Her lip quivers, but she tells herself to steady it.
She says, in her mocking mind, "No, December. I won't let you cry. Not here. Not now."
Oh, the follies we believe in when we're young. The impractical way we assume we're actually in control of the emotions, the disgrace inside of ourselves. To be young again...
She scans the scene around her.
She cocks her head, much as she did when she was a child listening to the meaningless clicking of the clock on the wall.
Only this time, December Rose Juliet sought the passing of time in another noise: The shouts of the approaching train.
It's almost here, December.
Purchase your ticket, before it's too late.

She stumbles to the counter, her legs shaking violently beneath her as she breathlessly collpases infront of the ticketmaster.
He is old, rotund. His thinning hair is a perfect circle around the center of his scalp, and his glasses hang limpy from their perch on his crooked nose. He smiles. I smile. Does she see me?
"What'll it be, miss? The last train'll be pullin' in any second now. You're rather late, sweetheart."
"Please." She gasps. "Please."
She blows her violent black hair from her eyes, straightening her back.
"I need a---"
"One way ticket back to your heart?"
She pauses, gaining her breath.
Is she looking for me?
December, Sweety. Can you see me?
I'm so close.
Just...just grab my hand, and---
"I...listen, I just need to get out of here. You don't under----"
But as she speaks, the last train of the wasting night pulls into the terminal, smoke screaming slumsily from its mouth.
She turns back to the ticketmaster, pleading with her eyes.
"I...I just..."
"Get on the train, December." he says plainly. His eyes twinkle. His lips twitch into the faintest arch.
There we go, Sweety. You've finally found me.
Now come on.
Let's runaway.

She runs, leaping through throngs of travelers and ponderers, with eyes for nothing more than the vinyl seat she's been longing for her entire life.
I grab her hand, at the last second, and I hope. I hope she can feel it, and we run.
We run down the isles, we run down the hallways of December's little heart.
We pass innumerable seats, filled with faceless people she's been passing for as long as she can remember.
We pass a window, to our left. And even now, in the middle of the summer, snow falls outside the curtains.
December tilts her head, confused, but keeps running.
It's just snow, December. Just a snowflake. Is that alright?
We pass whole compartments filled with glassy eyed children, holding their stomachs in hunger and lust.
Do you know them, December?
Oh yes, that's right.
You're on of them.
We pass a man, weaving a basket of hemp and straw. He smiles wanly as we pass, but December closes her eyes as he approaches. Too many memories, too many nightmares.
We pass a little girl with blonde hair, staring at her comrade as he runs around the playground, playing army. and she begs him not to joke about such gravities. But he's just a kid, and he doesn't understand. He never will.
December stumbles, but i pull her right along.
Deep breaths, sweetheart, deep breaths...
We pass a young man in a red apron, tossing flour onto a circle of dough and spices. He's laughing, because he's finally happy here, making pizzas for those with no time for themselves. He's got all the time in the world.
We pass a police officer, crumpling and uncrumpling a peice of red construction paper in his hands, a lost and yearning look on his stern face.
December stares.
too many memories, too many nightmares.
And December Rose Juliet tries to hard to turn back now.
Too many memories, Too many nightmares.
But I pull her back, because at the end of this train, there's something I think she'll want to see.
We pass a little girl, with tangled black hair, and a tearstained face. she stares at the ceiling, her fists clench, praying to God for answers. For help.
December starts to fall, too lose her footing. We've run so far....
And finally...
We come to the end of the train, and there it is.
There lies, all December has ever had.
A stolen necklace, with a snowflake charm, gleaming from the floor where it lays in a blanket of dust at her feet.
There it is, December.
There's that stupid necklace that ruined your stupid life.
The one your mother stole for you, and was taken to jail for in return.
There's the necklace that tore you away from the only life you've ever known.
The necklace that forced you into lonliness, desperation.
It's the necklace you hates so much, but deep down inside, loved so much, too. Because it was the only thing you had to remind you of your mother, and your home. the only thing that kept your heart on the right track, even when the train was crashing...crashing...
It's the only thing you had when you were taken away from your home, and plunged into Desiderare Domus, a place where, for once, you finally felt happy.
And its the same necklace you had when even Domus thrust you away.
It's the necklace you were given the last time you ever saw your mother.
It is the necklace you threw out the window of a moving train three years ago, when you were angry at the clouds, and their race.

But listen here, December Rose Juliet.
This necklace is everything.
This necklace, is the very reason your story lives on.
without this, without this piece of stolen gold, your mother would still be with you.
your life will have gone forward, as planned.
you'd be happy...but you'd be hopeless.

The race only lasts so long, baby girl.
Sooner or later, the clouds will get tired, the sky will grow still, and your feet, they'll still be running.
You won't tire, Sweetheart, because of this necklace.
This stupid necklace.
If you have it in your hand, you'll keep running. Because, even if you don't realize it, you're hoping to find something at the end of the road.
Adn with this necklace in your hand....I think you'll find it.

Take it, December.
Put it on...
Very good.
Now turn around.
Look around you.
You've won the race.

I hope you found what you were looking for.