Train of Thought
A short story in five parts

By: Michael S. Collins.
September 10, 2008

PART ONE

WHAT WE KNEW SO FAR, OR THOUGHT WE KNEW WE KNEW

Sleek Neglibus was dead. Of that there can be little doubt. His body (or what was left of it) had been identified, the funeral lamented, the period of mourning suitably discontinued. Sleek Neglibus was most definitely dead. Gone, removed from the vicinity of conversation, far from the madding crowd itself, never to return to share a pint with friends. His ashes lay scattered amongst the turds and cigarette ash in a local community park. There was no chance that he had been accidentally been made posthumous. If the train had not seen off SLEEK in his final moments, the lifelessness of the corpse (or, what was left of it) then the overworked furnace fires put an end to that question once and for all. SLEEK was gone. But that was not the end of the story. For SLEEK was not alone in the tragedy of his untimely death.

There can be little doubt that Timory Crooker had a personal hand and responsibility in the death of SLEEK, his former friend and drinking partner. There had been no proper hint of foul play, since he had not gone as far as to murder the poor soul. Friends frequently do such things, but not in this case. What had actually happened was this: one emotional night after many an hour of sobriety (and many an hour of none), Crooker and SLEEK had removed themselves from the local drinking establishment – which would wish to remain nameless – and set about heading back to the flat of Crooker for further refreshment. To get from the pub they had been enjoying to the safety of Timory’s flat; it was mostly advisable to cross the pedestrian bridge over the express line.

But that would have taken up a good twenty minutes of the men’s time – valuable drinking time! – and they decided to traverse across the line itself as a shortcut. Such ideals are usually dangerous, and so they were to prove in this case, for in some turn of event, the forever late express train was early, and as a result SLEEK was never to reach sobriety again. (Though if he would ever should he have lived is another matter. He was widely regarded in some parts as a bit tired and emotional all the time. You know the sort – “I say, the future is a serious matter, and so – for Godsake – Hock and soda water.”)

But, if SLEEK was killed in such a forlorn and unanticipated way, how can it be said that Timory Crooker had any role in his death? The role Crooker held was at first glance tertiary rather than an admission of guilt: they may both have been legless, but the fact remained that SLEEK was underage and Crooker was not remains. As the elder, morally, surely it was Timory’s duty to prevent such tragedy occurring, nay, to prevent the youth from become so intoxicated in the first place? Or if such ceasing was not possible, definitely to look after the boy.

For SLEEK met his death on the tracks. The late night clowning prepared neither for the speed of the express train, and SLEEK was extinguished mid cry. Surely it was Crooker’s moral responsibility to keep SLEEK safe, and definitely not urge on further reckless behavior. Fatal behavior! Certainly this is how he felt, for Timory Crooker was tormented for years afterwards. It is often strange how the loss of a loved one evokes guilt in the survivors, regardless of death's inevitability. How this guilt factors into our train of thought would puzzle the most scientific mind.

But two things can not be stressed enough to be of importance: Timory Crooker was in no small way guilty by his own private admissions, and Sleek Neglibious’ death itself had almost completely been preventable. This makes the conclusion of this mess all the more remarkable, in hindsight.

How both men recovered from the situation is also of note. Crooker, on being a man of no small good timing, married Miss Drifter-Brass, former lady friend of SLEEK. They lived for a good few years in one of those suburban council flats detested so much. Then, Crooker received exactly what he deserved - promotion - and the flat was relegated in favor of the top half of a modern semi-detached. Soon after, he became a father. Life had turned out well for Timory Crooker.

SLEEK, being dead, could not recover properly from the incident, and so was cremated. The dead, having a slightly easier time of it, have little time for job prospects or families. Nor guilt, indeed.