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Iron Road

p={color:#000;}. Iron Road

Mike Brandish


There is a force that drives human lives, keeping us warm in our moments of weakness, certain that if we persist a little longer; if we stand the ordeal as good lambs, will be rewarded with what we desire. We are led to believe that we don’t even know how good it will be, but having a true belief, we will reach eternal life. I never believed in such higher power, until I faced one. Certainly, my reaction was not of bliss but the purest and rational horror to the aberrative creature that showed itself to me. Had I a feebler mind, the mere sight would shatter my sanity, though I’m not certain it did not. I still feel its presence in the back of my mind, the disturbing shadow in the corner of the eye that flees when I try to focus it. Of course, if there is a soul, mine is marked by the abomination of my actions in those days under the influence of the creature.

How long has passed, it is hard to say. My memories seem more dream than memory, becoming more elusive the more I try to grab them, like drops of rain dripping down my face. However, the beginning, if you do not believe in fate, was in the “year of the Lord” 1897.

Finally, I would be empowered of my new position, chief engineer of the train station. A job that except by name, was even more prestigious than a mayor. I would have the highest wage in the city, and people would beg to work for me. After all, it is an honor to serve the chief engineer. Also, there was the house. A 3 floors mansion built over a hundred years ago on a hill in the city center. The only one with a sight of the entire village, as well as the station that would be under my care. My name would reverberate through time for my service to humanity.

I was anxious, although that was the dream job of any good man, how I was entrusted was totally unexpected. Apparently, the former chief had resigned the post no more than one year after receiving it, without further explanation to the urban development board. Yes, he left the best job available, with his own servants and freedom to do whatever he wanted, disappearing into the night with his family. Did not even take his luggage. The servants were questioned by police inspectors several times, but there was no lead to a crime, so the case was filed.

My first visit to the city was very pleasant. The people were divided into two contrasting groups: one of them very proud of their inherited traditions of the Indians, and the other interbred by foreigners, mostly British, were by birth or customs. The most sociable point, the municipal market in the city center, was just a few dozen meters from my future home. Not far from it, there was a small teahouse, which swarmed near the time of the English ritual. People appeared to be much more at home there than anywhere else in the city, so that’s where I started my research on the peculiarities of my role.

I was informed by citizens, even against my will, about the history of the city. How ancient it was, how it had been transformed from just a ramshackle settlement that it was for hundreds of years into a complete city by English nobles. Nonsense! Were not by us, Brazilians, this city would never have been built. It was our sweat, our tears and our blood that made the biggest railway town of southeastern Brazil. It was up to me to continue the legacy.

At five-thirty, I returned to the meeting point near the market, where a cafuzo of affable eyes, the head of my new servants, was waiting for me with a smile. He introduced himself as Marcus and offered to carry my luggage, as he led me on the way home. Marcus seemed so excited to show me the city as the others, but his voice became hesitant when I told him I had already started my exploration before he arrived. He told me it was better to be accompanied whenever I decide to increase my known area, even if only thirty steps away from the city center. He attributed this to the pride of the residents of the beautiful parts of the city and his desire to hide the less picturesque parts. Not once had I thought that it was for my own safety, because the city did not seem to offer greater danger than an ocelot or a slip in a polished stone from the main road. Had I followed these instructions, the story would have a totally different and less gloomy turn.


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Iron Road

Some places are great to rest. Others are good to explore. If you mix them up, you might end up finding more than you asked for. The construction of the new railroad to the capital would be a task to put a man's name in history. The small brazilian village was inhabited by natives before it was colonized, natives who had great obscure powers, lost in time. However, some of the ancient knowledge is protected by a hidden tribe. Knowledge to prevent the destruction of mankind.

  • Author: Mike Brandish
  • Published: 2017-09-28 06:20:08
  • Words: 3617
Iron Road Iron Road