Day 4 — Saladin Thomas: Magic Mountain

The rollercoaster knew, deep in its heart, that it was meant to be train tracks.

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 An important thing to know is the whole thing happened over a period of four days. The residents of Valencia, California, therefore, could be forgiven for assuming the ambient metal groan that slowly enveloped their city during that time was a result of something man-made, not organic: surely, no animal cry or human death rattle was that sustained. Guesses ranged from “The electric company must be doing something” to “this is the soundtrack of a government conspiracy,” but none of them included “metallurgical swan song.”

Which is somewhat correct, because the sound belonged to the opposite end of the spectrum: the noise—imagine the slow-motion sound of the hinges of an old dishwasher, mid-opening—was more akin to something being born.

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The rollercoaster listened to the conversation near the base of its second upside down loop, sad that the new technician wouldn’t be able to put any of this information to use.

“Probably because this one,” the old technician said, reaching down to pick up a bolt, “isn’t engine powered, and it’s the only one in the park that isn’t. Strong brakes at the end, a good design, but this puppy doesn’t use a motor so it can’t get as fast as some of the other ones. Folks say it’s swaying more recently; they’re just used to the newfangled ones.”

Hearing this justified the rollercoaster’s constant feelings of being different and subsequent decision to leave, and also verified it wasn’t imagining things: it didn’t receive as much care or attention as the other coasters. It didn’t care that this was due to the heretofore immutable laws of physics. 

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It was the middle of the second day when someone finally said “Is…is it coming from the park?” 

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Another important thing to know is this happened in the winter, so...there weren’t that many people on the ride, or at Six Flags in general. (The real damage happened on the 5 Freeway, where the rollercoaster chose to indiscriminately shed its cars [which it wouldn’t need] into the various makes and models stuck in traffic. Ah, and crushed many, many vehicles on its journey. We should also offer thoughts and prayers for the hundreds of thousands of bodies littering a path from Santa Clarita to Downtown Los Angeles.)

The first few motions of The Goliath were similar to a snake getting its head chopped off, or a child trying to control a hose spewing water at full force: violently sinewy. It uncoiled its loops and wrenched free its feet from the cement from it’d been loosening itself from for three and a half days. Stretched out, its head (?) faced the entrance of the park, which is the direction in which it took off. Misguided though it may have been, it went to the only other place its metal knew, which was Union Station. It would find a track to connect with there. 

©2020 by Saladin Thomas. All rights reserved.

Day 4 — Leila Ghaznavi: The Legend

Day 4 — Amy Driesler: Snow

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