I remember the mask being lowered over my nose and mouth. I remember being unable to move, confined within the metaphysical restraints of my mind. The pain searing through my left arm. My eyelids growing heavy with sedation…I can remember hearing my own blood through my ears. Each wave of warmth becoming more and more faint until…
Clink-clank, clink-clank, clink-clank. I wake up to cold steel on my wrist and my head on a cold floor. Clink-clank. I raise my surprisingly heavy wrist to find a chrome briefcase attached to the other end of the hand cuff. This was definitely not my wisdom teeth removal appointment. I slowly stand up, making sure to not go too fast and risk nausea. It seems that I am in a sort of train cart. Strange, no one rides trains anymore. I pat of the dust on my pants and search my pockets. There’s a crumbled yellow ball in the pack of my pants. Upon unraveling the mysterious note, I discover that it is written in black pen. DON’T FORGET THE MILK. I crumbled the paper back up and toss it down the hall way. What does “don’t forget the milk” even mean? Did I need to pick up some groceries or something? “Whatever, I need to find out where I am and what this case is doing of my wrist” I say out loud. Thus, I begin my trek through the various train cabins.
Ugly. Old. Ugly and Old. All these train cabins look ugly or old or both. What time period am I in? The nineteenth century? I just need to find a way of this train. The next stop is probably a good place to at least find out where I am. Until then, I just need to keep walking through these cabins until I find someone to talk to.
(BOOM) (CRASH) (screaming) Picking up the pace, I kick down the door in front of me (surprisingly). Two figures draped with ponchos and bandannas stand in the middle of a crowded carriage, both of them pointing guns in the air and looking in my direction. Actually everyone in the room is looking in my direction (I guess its not just because of my ravishing features). “Hey you! Get on the ground and give me everything you got!” one of the marauders says menacingly. Too confused by whats going on, I just simply do not hear his demands. He points his gun and flicks back the hammer. Oh he’s about to shoot me.
Instinctively, I raise the case in front of me and run down the narrow aisle of the train cabin. (Pop) a bullet whizzes by and hits my briefcase. For some reason I don’t feel the effects and continue charging forward. The run the briefcase into the chest of my assailant. Then is sent sprawling on the ground. His accomplice tries to come to his aid, but just as the raises his gun, a mysterious foot appears. He falls losing his gun in the process. Back to the assailant that I just knocked on the ground, I bash his face with my briefcase. The satisfying crunch and slumping of his head follow. I stand victorious over the men and the cabin explodes into clapping. After the clapping dies down, I look for some one to talk too. I spot an elderly woman dressed in an abnormally large dress with frills. From what I was told, apparently, these guys were some bandits trying to make a profit of the passengers. Bandits? Trains? Frilly dresses? I am not in the twenty-first century. In fact, a kind jessiebelle informs me that its June 7th, 1848.
Remembering my AP U.S. History, I try to blend in with the crowd. Eventually, the train stops at a town called Booneville, and everyone gets off. As I step off train with the briefcase still handcuffed to my arm, a cloud of dust greets me and the sound of a bustling economy welcomes me. This is probably one of the boom towns I heard so much about in class. So that means I should find a saloon to gather information. Only, I don’t exactly look legal. Whatever, people broke rules all the time in this time period right? Upon reaching the saloon, I ask the barmaster for the special. He replies with a snicker and ignores me. Frustrated, I go back into contemplation. Briefcase, handcuff, milk, 1848. I gain the barmaster’s attention and ask for milk. He arrives with what looks like a Picasso painting in a cup. Nevertheless, I consume it out of sheer desperation. I guess the gross flavor just knocks me out because the next thing I remember is laying on the floor of the Oral Surgeons room.