February 13, 2018, 9:06 A.M.
We have arrived at the Sheepshead Bay station with our party of eighty-seven people and six oxen, and many rations to last us through this long journey by rail. I am eager to strike out for Central Park, where I hope the air will be beneficial to Margret’s lungs. Mr. Hastings has recommended we take the Q-train pass.
9:17 A.M.
Upon reaching the turnstile, Old Man Hardkoop found himself perplexed and did swipe his MetroCard many times, until Mr. Keseberg informed him that he had to jump or die, for a line was forming and we would waste no more resources on an old man of nearly forty.
9:20 A.M.
We are now waiting on the platform for the uptown train. ’Tis frigidly cold in the station, and Margret’s mother fears this foretells another snowfall.
9:23 A.M.
Our train has not come.
9:27 A.M.
Our train has not come.
9:30 A.M.
Our train has not come, and the oxen have dropped manure on the platform.
9:37 A.M.
Our train is come!
9:41 A.M.
The train has broken an axle. We fear that with yet another delay we will not make it to Central Park before the heavy snows set in. Margret is despondent.
9:56 A.M.
We have started again along the Q trail. Rations are beginning to run low, and we do not even know in which borough we presently sojourn. Mr. Halloran has caught consumption, after touching a damp handrail.
10:08 A.M.
Mr. Halloran has died of consumption.
10:26 A.M.
After a brief pause to bury Mr. Halloran’s body, on the express track at the Atlantic Avenue junction, we have resumed our uptown travel. Our new train smells like vomit, and several of the women and children have thus vomited too.
10:47 A.M.
The oxen grow weak from this long journey, and we have had to abandon many of our unnecessary items such as the feather bed for Margret’s mother. One of the oxen stepped on the foot of a passenger who is not from our party, and he exclaimed, “Get your motherfucking cow off me,” and I replied, “Good sir, that is no way to speak in front of the lady sex.” But he heard me not, for he had plugged up his ears with white buds.
11:08 A.M.
Our train has come to an unexpected halt in the middle of a cold and lightless tunnel beneath Manhattan. Margret is disconsolate. We know a higher power watches over us, yet we fear this power to be cruel and incompetent, because it is the M.T.A. control tower.
11:36 A.M.
We are still stranded. The lights in the car have gone out, and we have consumed the last of our vittles. We are frightfully cold and huddled for warmth. The conductor says we should be moving shortly, but he has been saying this now for fifteen minutes and we scarcely have hope left.
11:52 A.M.
Snow has begun to pile up in the tunnel. Mr. Keseberg has suggested we slaughter the oxen, and, as the Donner and Reed children grow listless with hunger, George Donner and I have agreed.
12:35 P.M.
We have eaten the oxen, and now we have dysentery.
1:15 P.M.
Tamsen and George have ventured out into the perilous wilderness of the tracks to forage for sustenance.
2:08 P.M.
Tamsen has brought back rats, which we told the children were hot dogs. George has not returned, and we believe he died relieving his bladder upon the third rail.
2:26 P.M.
Margret’s mother is beating me with her purse, shouting that we never should have listened to Mr. Hastings and that we shall all die aboard this hell-bound Q train.
2:36 P.M.
We have eaten Margret’s mother.
2:53 P.M.
The conductor finally admitted that the problem is not train traffic but a signal switch that dates back to the California Trail. We have eaten the conductor, too.
3:48 P.M.
I have abandoned all hope of ever reaching the verdant paradise of Central Park. Oh, I wish we had ne’er departed Brooklyn.
Epilogue
It has been several fortnights since our fateful journey to Central Park. Margret and I take strength in knowing that the M.T.A. has tested our family and that we have all endured, except for the people we had to devour. Margret has opened a food truck in Dumbo that is very popular. No one has ever dined upon such tender meat.
