Do you remember way, way back, when I stated I’d like the freedom to be occasionally offensive?
Well, this is one of the stories I had in mind. My main reason for writing this story isn’t to offend. I just thought it would be a funny, horrible story to tell. Hopefully it turned out okay, but that’s not really my call, I guess.
So, without further ado, Splotchy presents another dreadful reimagining:
The little railroad engine was the tiniest of engines, with the smallest boiler and the smallest furnace.
Little Engine mostly just helped out at the train yard, pulling freight cars off and on the switches. But one early morning a long-line of freight cars came into the yard. They asked a large engine to pull it over some hills. The large engine replied, “I’m sorry, I can’t.” The freight cars asked another large engine, but it too replied, “I’m sorry, I can’t.”
Finally, the freight cars asked the Little Engine, who replied, “I can! I can! I think I can!”
So the freight cars hitched up to the Little Engine, and off they went into the sunny fall country.
The freight cars were many, but still rather light. At each small town, the Little Engine stopped. With every stop the freight cars grew heavier and heavier.
The Little Engine came to a small hill. He pushed up the slope with a huff and a puff, and came back down on the other side. As he came down the hill he met a red engine.
“Hi, Mr. Engine, how do you do?” asked the Little Engine.
The red engine frowned, “I’m alright, I guess. As good as can be.” The red engine raised his red eyebrows. “Are you sure you should be pulling your long line of cars?”
“Oh yes, Mr. Engine, that is my job! My job is to take the cars where they go!”
The red engine sighed, “You shouldn’t go, you really should not. But I wish you well. Good day.” And off puffed the red engine, and then he was gone.
The Little Engine stopped at several more towns. And with each town the cars grew heavier and heavier. “My, these cars are making me huff!” thought Little Engine. “My, these cars are making me puff!”
Again Little Engine came to a hill, this one twice as big as the one before. With mighty huffing and mighty puffing, Little Engine finally made it over the hill.
As he came down the hill he met a black engine.
“Hi, Mr. Engine, how do you do?” asked Little Engine.
The black engine sighed, “I could be better. But I’m as good as can be.” The black engine looked at Little Engine then whispered very close, “Are you sure you should be pulling your long line of cars?”
“Oh yes, Mr. Engine, that is my job! My job is to take the cars where they go!”
The black engine muttered, “You shouldn’t go, you really should not. But I wish you well. Good afternoon.” And off puffed the black engine, and then he was gone.
The Little Engine stopped at one more town. And then he came to the largest hill. The Little Engine never had seen such a hill. The freight cars were so heavy, and he was so tired. But Little Engine spoke aloud to himself, “I think I can, I think I can.”
And with that Little Engine started up the hill. It took all of his huffing. It took all his puffing. Little Engine’s wheels strained with every bit of his might. And he said again, louder, louder than before, “I think I can, I think I can!” And the Little Engine went faster and faster. “I think I can, I think I can, I think I can, I think I can!”
And with that the Little Engine came over the top of the hill. Little Engine smiled, and said to himself, “I thought I could! I thought I could!”
And Little Engine, tired, more tired than ever before, rolled to a stop. Hundreds of people got out of his cars. Soldiers escorted the people in through a gate. The Little Engine looked up, and read a large sign:
Little Engine saw another little engine, whose eyes were droopy, staring at the ground. “What do the words on the sign mean?” Little Engine asked the other little engine.
The other little engine replied, “Work shall set you free.”
The Little Engine smiled. “Yes!” he said, “Yes. Work shall set us free. I thought I could! I thought I could!”
THE END
Oh that’s so fucked up.
Oh fuck dude, that’s not right.
Seriously.
I feel bad for laughing.
Wikipedia says that the gate is still there at Dachau, but it is not the original. Apparently, the original was taken when the camp was liberated. When we visited our tour guide said ‘for all we know it is in someone’s garage in America’.
Dachau is situated right in the town. The citizens of Dachau went about their daily business pretending not to know what was going on in the camp. Your story reflects that reality.
lulu + bubs, indeed, it is effed up.
jess, thanks for your comments. As has been said many times before, “It’s funny ’cause it’s true.”
I want to leave my desk and go play with my daughter’s Thomas the Tank Engine set….
Oh yeah, I sold it!
Now that is fucked up.
You’re a bad, bad man, Splotchy. It’s one of your more admirable qualities.
Wikipedia says that the gate is still there at Dachau, but it is not the original. Apparently, the original was taken when the camp was liberated.
So some American WWII vet brought that home and nailed it up over his teenaged son’s bedroom door. Now that’s fucked up!
I am silenced! However, I did, albeit with guilt, have a laugh.
Yikes. And Jess is right, the camp is there in the town. My visit to Dachau in the summer of 1999 was all the more sobering because of that fact.
Johnny, I think that’s the perfect place for that sign! Hey, Sweetness just did the dishes and now she is free to play.