The Banshee on the Train

I'd like to regale you in a tale from my personal collection.

I was on a train, one that passed near the Grand Canyon, and was eager for an educational tour of nature's splendor. I had brought a pencil and a notepad for sketching the beautiful scenery. As the train continued to board, on trotted a moo with two calves in tow. Well, one calf and one Pet Monster, and at the time, I was unaware of the breed. The beast was writhing in the simple stroller he was strapped into at the time, likely five or six in age, and tips of his pull up peeking out of his shorts. His brother quietly sat down, as did the Moo, pulling the stroller against the seat.

I ignored them, more interested in the sights to be seen ahead. The train slowly chugged to life, picking up momentum as a narration began over the speakers. Regretfully, I cannot remember any of that narration. Mostly because I was unable to hear most of it. For about three seconds in, a whimper caught my ears, almost fearful in tone. I turned back to the noise to see the domesticated demon open his maw to release an ear piercing shriek. A Purebred Banshee. Terrific. But, of course, he silenced himself afterwards. I thought, perhaps, that it had been a single occurance, and perhaps the ride would continue in relative silence. About forty-eight seconds later, the whimpering returned, followed by another screech, a noise so loud it made my ears buzz like a microphone breaking levels.

And this went on unbroken for an hour. The worst part was the whimpering, something that didn't give long enough warning, just simply heralded another wail from the brat.

His well behaved counterpart has my sympathy. He seemed younger than the other, and well trained as a future caretaker, handfeeding the shrieking beast fruit snacks, doing his best to calm and entertain him. This will be a long and awful life for him.

I felt the tension grow, I was ready to start howling myself. The not quite symmetrical nor evenly timed row was like a corkscrew in my skull, winding my nerves more and more tightly, I wasn't sure how long I was going to be able to keep up my facade of patience.

He slept for a fleeting thirty minutes on the way back. Which unfortunately was thirty minutes shy of the time it took to return to the station. I had learned nothing about the ecosystem of the desert, my head was pounding worse than any hangover I've had since, and I was consumed with the urge to destroy something, rip or crush or tear apart.

It was the least relaxing or enjoyable trip I've ever been on, to this very day.

OT, but I love the way you write! Awesome!

Back to what happened to you, I have heard similar shrieks and wails from brats, and they send me into either a: anxiety attack or b: migraine headache. I cannot STAND wailing beasts, no matter what their age. The only difference is the loudness, as freshly steaming loaves have smaller lungs than toadlers. I fucking can't stand toadlers.

I'm so sorry to hear that your trip was ruined by a shrieker. Do you suspect it was some kind of tard? If it was, the moo had NO business dragging it on a train.

Thank you for the compliment, mumofsixbirds. Despite my scientific bent, I'm actually majoring in creative writing, so I'm thankful for your kindness.

Oh, no doubt about it being a tard. Actually, Pet Monster is the term I use for them, mostly because "retard" is thrown around so much it's been seperated from its original, useful medical purposes (which vexes me so much). Its use also sort of reminds me of those who run the encyclopedia dramatica, 4Chan, and similar sites, and the association has caused me to remove "tard" and it's variants from my vocabularly out of personal, subjective embarrassment, though I do not demand others abandon it if they find the word useful to their own purposes, as I have no right to censor others based on my own hang ups.

Either way, I agree. The creature didn't even seem to enjoy it. Nobody won in this case, nobody had a good time.

Quote
mumofsixbirds
I cannot STAND wailing beasts, no matter what their age. The only difference is the loudness, as freshly steaming loaves have smaller lungs than toadlers. I fucking can't stand toadlers.

I hate toddlers more than any other age group. Their voices are so high pitched that even if they are just talking I expect to see glass shatter and eardrums to burst.

Souless, I'm with you there, as I had a similar experience years ago. I was traveling into the CBD on public transport, and being peak hour it was full with patrons standing in the aisle, and I was sardined in at the back, and couldn't see past the next two heads.

Straight from the word go, there was this ear-piercing, relentless, high pitched shrieking coming from the front of the bus, akin to commercial sized brake pads needing immediate service x1000. It wasn't brake pads, as the noise was ongoing and randomly fluctuated in octaves, and still within the ear-bleeding shrieking rang. This was relentless for a better part of one hour, which wasn't improved being in a confined area with no way to escape.

I finally got off the bus, to hear the shrieking hadn't ceased and was right next to me, only to look down and see some dead-eyed moo holding her defecto-autard-banshee, waiting for the next bus to inflict it's ungodly vocalisations onto more unsuspecting public transport user. The banshee wasn't actually shriek-crying but rather tard-talking to itself, in high pitched squeals, for which the defeated-moo did absolutely nothing to try and stop it from rupturing the eardrums of anyone withing a 1/2 mile radius. No doubt had anyone told the banshee to shut it's maw, she would've gone all Momma-bear on them, spewing rage about being autarded and not being able to help himself - conveniently excusing herself from anything resembling responsibility or even an ounce of effort.