In the beginning of this tale a red engine chugs up a hill with a payload consisting of all kinds of toy-animals, all kinds of dolls, a toy-clown, and lots of tasty Michelle Obama approved treats. As the soviet-red engine pulls its load of what might be consolidated in terminology to be opiates for the masses it breaks down like the chromatically corresponding crimson tide of communist Russia. All the occupants of the train then try to push the red-engine up the hill, but like the stranded population of Russia following the fall of communism they find themselves too weak to effectively move their stalled government-machine forward.
Following the stagnation of this soviet-machine the anthropomorphized toys appeal to a series of color-coded engines that appear to serve as the symbolic vessels of non-soviet modalities. The first of these symbolic vessels the toys appeal to is a golden engine that arrogantly boasts of having luxuriously transported oligarchical passengers as it refuses to assist these metaphorically-marooned toys. Although this engine has completed its daily duties proudly and these toys have offered no compensation in exchange for this engine's services an implied sense of scorn is assigned to this elitist-train in snide declarations that it is headed to the train roundhouse where trains go when they have nothing to do.
The next color-coded engine to encounter the toys stranded in the middle of their self-important escort-only-journey to go and play with children located at a higher metaphorical/geographical local is... black. Note: Due to this tale's apparently progressive p.o.v. any potentially racist symbolism presented by this chromaticism must be considered incidental rather than intentional as there are of course no racist progressives. This happens-to-be-black engine also refuses to assist the stagnant toys as it states that it is quite tired after a long day of pulling important things, and it too proceeds unloaded to the roundhouse (as it is again noted that trains go to this place when they have nothing to do). Also Note: A less condescending tone is used to shame this train in its refusal to pull the toys as it is painted as an arch-typically overworked and exploited proletariat vessel manipulated by the system into becoming unfeelingly dismissive of those stranded so near to them.
Having been dismissed by two implicitly callous capitalist-vessels marked by strong masculine/patriarchal traits the toys continue to wait for another vessel to come to their aid. At no point is there even an allusion to considerations for them to simply walk the rest of the way to their prescribed destination. It is also unclear as to whether or not another engine might be dispatched for them should the black or gold trains forward the news of their stalled journey at the roundhouse upon their arrival. Note: Perhaps what is most troubling is the solipsistic predisposition of the toys that masquerades in this tale as a protagonist's plight as their quest to please children precludes any consideration for the mere possibility of validity in the omitted backstories or continued plot-lines of the unassisting engines (but I digress...).
Luckily for the stagnant toys a more petite and sympathetic feminine engine painted a democratic-party blue arrives. Note: The symbolic implications of this feminine train's blue color may additionally indicate something of a transgender or rebellious feminist nature given the long-standing associated uses of blue for boys and pink for girls. This little blue engine quickly points out to the toys that it feels small and has never been up the mountain before as if to imply that female trains are not given the same opportunities as other trains. Despite the little-blue engine's disclaimer/missive she none-the-less pleasantly agrees to pull the toys up (capitol?) hill to the elevated childrens' whereabouts.
Then armed only with the power of positive thinking, the moral support of the toys riding on her back, and an author's intent to bring a climatic "you-go-girl" moment into fictional fruition the little blue engine delivers these toys to the predestined empyrean peak of child-mountain. All is implicitly made right in the world, and its happily ever after, &c, &c, &c...
Considering the numerous concerns I have over this tale and the length at which I have already gone in this admittedly snide synopsis I will soon adjourn my dissertations until later or perhaps never. In any case I hope that anyone reading this manages to make their way up whatever proverbial hill they are climbing, and I encourage that you to do so on your own steam as I believe that will offer the most satisfying result. Should you require assistance it is of course perfectly acceptable to ask of others, but you might be well advised to know that they are all on journeys of their own of which you may know nothing. And whatever else there is to say about this or any other story there's always power in affirming those little-engine words "I think I can"....
