A bit of a preface, I write satires disguised as other genres as a strange passion. It's a part of me that I just have and I like doing. My writings go nowhere, and I can be motivated to write by getting frustrated at watching a show or a movie and feeling like I can do better than the writer for that. My writings are very political and very satirical, I'm just that kind of person. I've been listening to Soviet Rock because it hits that political nail inside me, and it compels me. However, I've fallen in love with Mashina Vremeni's "Talks on a Train" and been feeling like writing a short story based on it. So here you go, this looking into my perspective on the meaning of "Talks on a Train" by creating a short story, narrating that entire conversation in greater detail. I hope you guys enjoy it since I rarely let people into my literary world. Also, it's not perfect since it's just a passion project. Here is our cast : A drunkard, a rich couple (a woman in a silk dress and her husband wearing a grey suit), a middle-class man in a nice black suit, a female soldier, a lumberjack in plaid, and finally a short man with a strange mustache.
Loud bellowing of metal wheels clashing against metal tracks, the sounds of people talking amongst themselves. Quiet for a moment, with the bursts of laughter or intrigue. People of all colors speaking, until one crank got up. The man wasn’t clean at all, he looked filthy, almost ragged and homeless. He had a bottle of beer, and three more across the table in the carriage. He burped, shook his head and scratched his grey beard, then began searching for a busboy.
“I need more vodka!” He shouted in a slurred and gravelly voice, “C’mon! You’re going to let this old man die of thirst! He-heh!” The other patrons didn’t take to this at all. A woman in a silken white dress realized her champagne glass was empty, scoffing.
“Oh, I need more champagne. Hey, ofitsiant, more champagne, waiter?”
A young man in a fairly nice red suit walked in with his arms behind his back. He tipped his hat and looked at the carriage full of patrons before saying, “My apologies but we’re out of drink.” A collective sigh and a volatile explosion of frustration rolled over the man as he scurried out of the carriage, gently shutting the door behind him. A man in a black suit got up and approached a woman in a telnyashka with cargo pants, propping up against her table with a smirk on his clean-shaven face.
“What’s your take on life?” He asked her with a glint of interest.
"What do you mean?" She asked.
"Well, do you have a choice or not in life?" He added.
“I see it like this : our life is like a train. We get on, and we only go where it takes us.” The woman didn’t seem interested, but she answered honestly. However, it was the woman in the silk dress who didn’t like her answer.
“Our life is like the station, dorogaya, we choose the path we take!”
“Yeah, when you’re broke with nothing left, the military is pretty nice, until they tell you where to go. We live by the rule of the Government, not our own free choice.”
“The military is no place for a woman!” A man in a grey suit shouted.
“Neither is harlotry on street corners!” The soldier protested.
The man in the grey suit across from the woman in the silk dress nodded but didn’t seem to care for her argument.
“We got onto this train, and we can choose where it goes.” The man in the black suit said.
“How, how do we decide where this behemoth goes without being told where it goes?” The soldier retorted.
“The soldier’s right! We only go where the train takes us.” A man in the rear, wearing a red-and-black plaid shirt with a man’s man of a beard, added.
“You’re all greedy, ” the soldier insisted, “After-all, what do you know about living life without money?”
“We’re the conductors, we make the choices after all!” The woman in the silk dress said, smiling, even sitting next to the soldier.
“Yeah, if you can afford a ticket!” The lumberjack in plaid shouted back.
The soldier scooted closer to the window, looking out of it as the train barreled down the track.
“Look, we don’t have a choice, we live conditioned by our Government to do and think as they wish.”
“You’re a soldier, how can you say that?” The man in grey shouted, “After all, freedom is our reward.”
“We’re not free, ” The soldier protested, “I enslave people with war.” Someone from the rear, just across from the man in plaid, shouted, “We’re passengers!” The man in the black suit turned around and negated his claim, but the man retorted, “We get on the train, and that’s it. We go where it goes.” The soldier applauded in agreement, still avoiding eye contact with the others. The person who spoke came to the front, a short angry man with a strange mustache, sat across from the soldier.
“We’re conductors, not passengers!” The man in the grey suit tried to reason.
“If we’re the conductors, why do the lesser people rob from us?” The man with the strange mustache added, “If we’re in control, why does life bother so many.”
“I say, if we’re in control, no man would be poor and no man would be robbed by the banks!” He continued.
The woman in the silk dress got up, a look of bitterness on her face, then adjusted her dress, sitting down with a huff.
“Our road, the train tracks, is open, it’s been like this for years!” She shouted back, looking to her husband in his fancy grey suit.
“Yeah, I doubt it’s open, ” The man with the strange mustache protested.
The lumberjack stood up and shouted, "The rich clean the tracks for themselves, and leave the tracks in ruin for the rest of us!"
"You need a ticket to ride, too." Said the man in the mustache.
“But the ticket doesn’t cost much!” The woman in the silk dress added.
“It does if you’re a soldier or a lumberjack.” The man in plaid proclaimed.
“If you cannot afford the ticket, then that’s further proof you’re the conductor!” The man in grey proclaimed.
“Yeah, you’re right. The train doesn’t move without a conductor. Sucks if the conductor is a lesser man robbing us all!” The man in the mustache proclaimed.
“It’s simple, alright, we make the choices and we live by them.” The man in black tried to get out but was shadowed by everyone’s arguing.
“Money makes your life easier. The more, the merrier. The less, the easier to bend.” The man in plaid added with cynicism.
The drunk without vodka, the first passenger who started it all, stood up, tapped his empty bottle, and said, “Where it is we go, we go so on a whim. It’s our choice, simple as that!”
“You’re drunk!” Shouted the lumberjack in plaid.
“Yeah, ” The woman in the silk dress insisted.
“I agree with him, “ The man in the grey suit said.
“We have a choice, after all, so we do as we wish. Drunkards or not, life is a train!”
“It isn’t a damn train!”
“Well, life goes where we wish. The train goes where there are tracks, ” The man in the black suit proclaimed, smiling.
“Much like a soldier goes where his commissars say. The commander lays the tracks, and you must follow!” The man with the mustache added.
The train arrived at Taganrog, and only two passengers disembarked : the soldier and the man in the black suit.
“Where are you going?” The man in the suit asked, watching as the train was loaded with more people, and a cart full of liquor.
“Where the Star points me to.” The soldier replied.
“Well, your life, goes where you want.”
“It goes where the tracks are laid. And for now, they’re here. In Taganrog.” The two waved goodbye, one heading towards the vast fields and the other to the city. And the train, well, it took off down the tracks, purple plumes of smoke whisking off with the crisp fall air, as it went on it's way.