Obsidian Flow-Prologue

    A train rumbled past abandoned farmland, more or less went through its route unnoticed. For the passengers on board, not much was visible other than the night sky.The moon, only a crescent in the sky did its best to illuminate the land below, but still came up short.The night became a void, pierced only by the twinkle of stars sending their light across the universe. Even those became lost by the occasional obscurity of drifting clouds. A few found the mystery of the night sky relaxing, and others only wanted to reach their destination.  All of the passengers were tired, and greatly desired sleep. This task was made all the easier by the dimmed lights of the cabins.

    Those conducting were grateful to the passengers who had decided to lose themselves in space or sleep the rest of the journey. Even so, the middle of the week tended to allow leisure as people had obligations to keep. Thus, many of the seats occupied were dominated by businessmen and drifters. One conductor took a glance towards his watch and, to his surprise, saw he hadn’t done rounds in nearly a half hour. Flicking what remained of his cigar into the river below (at least he hoped that’s what it was, as the train was currently passing over a bridge), he left the rear deck of the train and entered the caboose. His re-entry into the world of conducting bothered a number of passengers as he loudly made his way between cars, disturbing the peace instead of keeping it. Grumbled bits of irritation escaped the mouths of the awakened as he walked by. Not even they were sure of what they were saying.

    Making his way to the front of the train, he noticed two professional-looking men talking loudly in the anterior section of the car. Looking around, he saw that the car was essentially empty save for the two men, a mother and her sleeping child, and a man riddled with tattoos. Best not to wake the kid, the conductor thought to himself (anyone with access to his mind would have found this statement ironic). He thus made his way over to the two men to ask them to keep their voices down. His request was met with a glare from one and a nod from the other. Satisfied with his conducting, he went into the night air that lay between the rattling cars, and lit a cigarette. The cheap stuff was for short breaks, and the more expensive varieties he saved for long nights such as this. He’d used his cigar already, however, and was thus inclined to pursue a break designed for lesser men than he. The best way to tell a man’s character was by what he smoked. It couldn’t be too expensive, otherwise he was a snob. If it were too cheap, then the man was a prude. That was the way the conductor’s father had taught him. Spend the money you have, and save the money you don’t.

    In the car behind him, an incident took place-one involving the death of two men. How they died is a mystery. The coroner’s report would later claim that a sharp object, used with an intense amount of pressure, had cut into their tracheas; blood to fill their lungs. It was hard to say exactly what had been the cause of death-the lack of oxygen, or their blood not being pumped correctly. It was an odd case, as there were no splatters of any sort, only the dead men, their wounds already clotted over with black rubber-like ooze. No sounds were made, and no one was alerted. Other than the two corpses, the only discernible difference within the cabin was the lack of the tattooed man’s presence.