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Terminus
A Thursday Prompt story
© 2021 by Walter Reimer
Prompt: ending
“Owendale, next stop!” the conductor cried out. Perhaps unnecessarily, because there was only one person in the car. The middle-aged bulldog reached out and nudged the sleeping passenger’s shoulder, stepping back as the younger man stirred. “Owendale, sonny. End of the line.”
The raccoon lifted his dirty baseball cap and blinked up at the man before turning to look out the window. “Owendale?” he asked around a yawn.
“Yeah. No more stops after this, unless you want to go back the way you came.”
The raccoon stretched and yawned again before gathering up his backpack and getting to his feet, one paw gripping the back of the seat in front of him to steady himself. “There’s no point in going back,” he mumbled under his breath. Aloud he said, “Thanks,” and headed for the train’s exit, stepping off onto the platform. A drowsy fur sat behind the ticket window, and apart from him there was no one there.
Andy walked over to the ticket window, where a map of the town was posted beside the train schedule. It was a fairly small town, clustered around a bay. Sure, there were roads leading in and out of it, but he had opted to take the train from Mercerville. It went through the mountains that separated Owendale from the rest of the country, and it beat walking.
Although the idea of hiking through the pine forests had been appealing.
He smiled as his stomach suddenly growled. Slipping his backpack over his shoulders, he headed into the town.
The neon sign over the place read Stay-A-While Diner. Accepting the name as an omen, Andy headed on inside and took a seat at the end of the counter. The place’s music system was playing The Carpenters’ Top of the World.
“Hi,” the waitress said as he made himself comfortable, his pack at his feet. She was a raccoon as well, maybe his age or a shade younger, with pleasant green eyes. “What can I get you?”
“A cup of coffee, please,” he said, “and a menu.”
She looked over her glasses at him. His fur was medium brown, maybe a shade lighter than one of the usual raccoon shades; his slightly overlong headfur was a sandy blonde. His eyes were brown. “Do you have any money?”
He understood immediately. He looked like a homeless wanderer, dressed in very well-used jeans and a plaid shirt and badly in need of a fur trim, with a battered-looking backpack and a dirty ball cap with the patch of some landscaping company. He dug into a pocket and placed a dingy and very crumpled five dollar bill on the counter. “What’ll this get me?”
“That’ll get you your coffee,” she said. Her name tag read Lynette. “And an order or two of toast.”
“Oh.” An equally distressed twenty was laid down beside it. “How about now?”
She smiled. “For that you get coffee and the menu – unless you want the special?” She was dressed in jeans and a light gray t-shirt, with a fairly clean apron over her clothes. Her fur was a light gray, but not the same shade as her shirt so that it was obvious she wasn’t going topless.
“What’s the special?”
“Two eggs any style, your choice of ham steak, sausage or bacon; hash browns, and toast,” she recited. “With the coffee, eight ninety-nine.”
Andy grinned. “Sold. I’ll have the special, with the eggs over easy, please.” The Carpenters stopped singing, followed by a tune that he couldn’t quite recognize.
“Coming up.” She relayed the order to the kitchen and a full mug of coffee was placed in front of him, along with sugar packets and a spoon. Disdaining the sugar, he raised the mug, sniffed, sipped, and then took a deep drink. “New in town?”
“Ah,” he sighed as he lowered the mug. “Yes. Am I that obvious?”
She shrugged. “We get a couple homeless guys in here from time to time, trying to get some free coffee or a meal.” Her nostrils flared as she sniffed. “But you don’t smell like them.”
“Let me guess. Stale cigarettes, body odor and booze?”
“Yeah.” Her ears dipped slightly in embarrassment.
Andy shrugged. “Don’t drink or smoke,” and he smiled as he raised his mug again, “and I like clean clothes and fur once in a while.”
“Um . . “ and she made a gesture.
He shook his head. “Don’t do drugs, either.”
“So you’re just walking, - “
“Andy.”
“Lynette.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
“So, Andy, you’re just walking?”
“Yeah.” He set the empty mug on the counter.
She refilled it. “Where from?”
He shrugged, his banded tail swishing back and forth idly. “Columbia.”
“C-Columbia?” Her mouth hung open. “That’s clear on the other side of the country! How long have you been walking?”
“About a year,” he replied, taking a swallow of his refill.
“Why?”
The mug paused, hovering just at his lower lip, and he set it down as his gaze met hers. “Have you ever wanted to, I don’t know, just – walk away? Leave your home and friends and comfortable surroundings and – just go? See new places, meet new people?”
“That’s what you’ve been doing?” His reply was forestalled by a peremptory ding! as the cook placed his order in the window, and Lynette turned to get it for him. After she’d set it down in front of him, with silverware, a napkin, and a bottle of ketchup, she asked, “Just walking?”
Andy nodded as he scooped the eggs on top of his hash browns, broke the yolks over the potatoes and added some ketchup before mashing everything together with his fork. He ate a few bites of it, closing his eyes and smiling, and swallowed before he replied, “Yeah, just walking. Sure, I stop here and there, find work – “
“Doing what?”
He took a drink of his coffee, and she refilled his mug again. “Pretty much anything legal,” and he grinned and winked at her. He had all his teeth. “Washed dishes, swept floors, mowed yards – that’s where I got the hat,” he said. “Gave the boss some of my pay at the end of the week for it.”
Lynette found herself fascinated by this strange boar seated in front of her, attacking the ham steak and smiling with pure enjoyment at the salty taste. “What brings you to Owendale, then?”
Andy swallowed before saying, “It’s at the end of the rail line, so I decided to see the place.”
“Yeah,” she half-snorted, “it’s the end of the line, all right. Need another refill?”
“No, thank you, but I’d like a glass of milk, please.”
“Coming up.”
Several regular diners came in just then, greeting Lynette and the cook (whose name was Drake) and the waitress bustled off to look after them. Andy stayed where he was at the end of the counter, slowing down as his stomach grew full.
He was sipping at his milk and chasing the last of the egg with his last piece of toast by the time Lynette came back to him. “So, left home, huh? No family?”
“Yeah, but I have a family. Don’t worry, they’re still alive. I check in with them from time to time.”
“That’s good.” She turned as another regular, a police officer, came in.
She missed his shrug.
He paid the bill and tucked a tip under the plate before gathering up his pack and his cap, and Lynette asked, “What was your name again?”
“Andy. Andy McTeer.” He put his cap on. “And I’m pleased to meet you, Lynette.”
She grinned, and her grin grew wider when she saw the tip. “Come in again.”
“Thanks.” He paused and turned away from the door. “Is there a laundromat nearby?”
“Yeah.” She pointed at the street in front of the diner. “That's Center Street; head that way, take the first left, and it’s in a strip mall on your right.”
“Great. Thanks, Lynette,” and he walked out of the diner.
He slung his pack over one shoulder and set off down the street, thinking. First things first, and that was to find a hotel or somewhere cheap so he could get a shower and change into clean clothes before getting his laundry done. After that, he’d start looking around for work.
As he walked, Andy McTeer smiled to himself. True, Owendale might very well be the end of the line.
But every ending is a beginning.
A Thursday Prompt story
© 2021 by Walter Reimer
Prompt: ending
“Owendale, next stop!” the conductor cried out. Perhaps unnecessarily, because there was only one person in the car. The middle-aged bulldog reached out and nudged the sleeping passenger’s shoulder, stepping back as the younger man stirred. “Owendale, sonny. End of the line.”
The raccoon lifted his dirty baseball cap and blinked up at the man before turning to look out the window. “Owendale?” he asked around a yawn.
“Yeah. No more stops after this, unless you want to go back the way you came.”
The raccoon stretched and yawned again before gathering up his backpack and getting to his feet, one paw gripping the back of the seat in front of him to steady himself. “There’s no point in going back,” he mumbled under his breath. Aloud he said, “Thanks,” and headed for the train’s exit, stepping off onto the platform. A drowsy fur sat behind the ticket window, and apart from him there was no one there.
Andy walked over to the ticket window, where a map of the town was posted beside the train schedule. It was a fairly small town, clustered around a bay. Sure, there were roads leading in and out of it, but he had opted to take the train from Mercerville. It went through the mountains that separated Owendale from the rest of the country, and it beat walking.
Although the idea of hiking through the pine forests had been appealing.
He smiled as his stomach suddenly growled. Slipping his backpack over his shoulders, he headed into the town.
The neon sign over the place read Stay-A-While Diner. Accepting the name as an omen, Andy headed on inside and took a seat at the end of the counter. The place’s music system was playing The Carpenters’ Top of the World.
“Hi,” the waitress said as he made himself comfortable, his pack at his feet. She was a raccoon as well, maybe his age or a shade younger, with pleasant green eyes. “What can I get you?”
“A cup of coffee, please,” he said, “and a menu.”
She looked over her glasses at him. His fur was medium brown, maybe a shade lighter than one of the usual raccoon shades; his slightly overlong headfur was a sandy blonde. His eyes were brown. “Do you have any money?”
He understood immediately. He looked like a homeless wanderer, dressed in very well-used jeans and a plaid shirt and badly in need of a fur trim, with a battered-looking backpack and a dirty ball cap with the patch of some landscaping company. He dug into a pocket and placed a dingy and very crumpled five dollar bill on the counter. “What’ll this get me?”
“That’ll get you your coffee,” she said. Her name tag read Lynette. “And an order or two of toast.”
“Oh.” An equally distressed twenty was laid down beside it. “How about now?”
She smiled. “For that you get coffee and the menu – unless you want the special?” She was dressed in jeans and a light gray t-shirt, with a fairly clean apron over her clothes. Her fur was a light gray, but not the same shade as her shirt so that it was obvious she wasn’t going topless.
“What’s the special?”
“Two eggs any style, your choice of ham steak, sausage or bacon; hash browns, and toast,” she recited. “With the coffee, eight ninety-nine.”
Andy grinned. “Sold. I’ll have the special, with the eggs over easy, please.” The Carpenters stopped singing, followed by a tune that he couldn’t quite recognize.
“Coming up.” She relayed the order to the kitchen and a full mug of coffee was placed in front of him, along with sugar packets and a spoon. Disdaining the sugar, he raised the mug, sniffed, sipped, and then took a deep drink. “New in town?”
“Ah,” he sighed as he lowered the mug. “Yes. Am I that obvious?”
She shrugged. “We get a couple homeless guys in here from time to time, trying to get some free coffee or a meal.” Her nostrils flared as she sniffed. “But you don’t smell like them.”
“Let me guess. Stale cigarettes, body odor and booze?”
“Yeah.” Her ears dipped slightly in embarrassment.
Andy shrugged. “Don’t drink or smoke,” and he smiled as he raised his mug again, “and I like clean clothes and fur once in a while.”
“Um . . “ and she made a gesture.
He shook his head. “Don’t do drugs, either.”
“So you’re just walking, - “
“Andy.”
“Lynette.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
“So, Andy, you’re just walking?”
“Yeah.” He set the empty mug on the counter.
She refilled it. “Where from?”
He shrugged, his banded tail swishing back and forth idly. “Columbia.”
“C-Columbia?” Her mouth hung open. “That’s clear on the other side of the country! How long have you been walking?”
“About a year,” he replied, taking a swallow of his refill.
“Why?”
The mug paused, hovering just at his lower lip, and he set it down as his gaze met hers. “Have you ever wanted to, I don’t know, just – walk away? Leave your home and friends and comfortable surroundings and – just go? See new places, meet new people?”
“That’s what you’ve been doing?” His reply was forestalled by a peremptory ding! as the cook placed his order in the window, and Lynette turned to get it for him. After she’d set it down in front of him, with silverware, a napkin, and a bottle of ketchup, she asked, “Just walking?”
Andy nodded as he scooped the eggs on top of his hash browns, broke the yolks over the potatoes and added some ketchup before mashing everything together with his fork. He ate a few bites of it, closing his eyes and smiling, and swallowed before he replied, “Yeah, just walking. Sure, I stop here and there, find work – “
“Doing what?”
He took a drink of his coffee, and she refilled his mug again. “Pretty much anything legal,” and he grinned and winked at her. He had all his teeth. “Washed dishes, swept floors, mowed yards – that’s where I got the hat,” he said. “Gave the boss some of my pay at the end of the week for it.”
Lynette found herself fascinated by this strange boar seated in front of her, attacking the ham steak and smiling with pure enjoyment at the salty taste. “What brings you to Owendale, then?”
Andy swallowed before saying, “It’s at the end of the rail line, so I decided to see the place.”
“Yeah,” she half-snorted, “it’s the end of the line, all right. Need another refill?”
“No, thank you, but I’d like a glass of milk, please.”
“Coming up.”
Several regular diners came in just then, greeting Lynette and the cook (whose name was Drake) and the waitress bustled off to look after them. Andy stayed where he was at the end of the counter, slowing down as his stomach grew full.
He was sipping at his milk and chasing the last of the egg with his last piece of toast by the time Lynette came back to him. “So, left home, huh? No family?”
“Yeah, but I have a family. Don’t worry, they’re still alive. I check in with them from time to time.”
“That’s good.” She turned as another regular, a police officer, came in.
She missed his shrug.
He paid the bill and tucked a tip under the plate before gathering up his pack and his cap, and Lynette asked, “What was your name again?”
“Andy. Andy McTeer.” He put his cap on. “And I’m pleased to meet you, Lynette.”
She grinned, and her grin grew wider when she saw the tip. “Come in again.”
“Thanks.” He paused and turned away from the door. “Is there a laundromat nearby?”
“Yeah.” She pointed at the street in front of the diner. “That's Center Street; head that way, take the first left, and it’s in a strip mall on your right.”
“Great. Thanks, Lynette,” and he walked out of the diner.
He slung his pack over one shoulder and set off down the street, thinking. First things first, and that was to find a hotel or somewhere cheap so he could get a shower and change into clean clothes before getting his laundry done. After that, he’d start looking around for work.
As he walked, Andy McTeer smiled to himself. True, Owendale might very well be the end of the line.
But every ending is a beginning.
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Raccoon
Size 120 x 92px
File Size 53.1 kB
Listed in Folders
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