Short Story

The Train

Brilliant colours arrayed the fields – peaks of gloopy cones spanked with new snow scattered the tips of the horizon, settling upon the gigantic ships. Plonked boxes to warm the inhabitants stand at close range. BANG! it can go at any second.
Pug-nose bled trains, rusted, rendered more and succumbed to the static death at an agonising rate. Breathe they can, but panting is over. The trains of Carnforth abandoned for all to see…

47245…47826…47851 numbers on the disused become warrant receipts for the next arrival. When?

Waiting for his train, he sardonically gnarled at people wanting to sit at the very same seat his bag was at. He wasn’t in the mood to be accommodating. He isn’t really this way inclined, however today represented a well trodden attitude he possessed.

You’re not taking in when looking or seeing – you’re letting out!

Slathered marsh – green grey brown brooks a-washed with kitchen sink pools. Amassed with ponds of great virtue, the surrounding crags cringed to their perilous course. Paraded trees templed the hills with spires of dark spikes autumnal branches. It is here where you buried your beloved.

Ugly with know-how, knowledge and knowing. How it turns to beauty at a twist – to know how, to have knowledge and to know. The purpose belongs to me. To her, she had it and went beyond. The journey tells her tale. She has been able to come back with profits. Beaten and bruised, she needs the police. Call them! “Harm has happened,” the shouts ring in everyone’s ears. “who’s the witness?”
“I am!” confirmed an attention seeker. But there was really no one but her – and she is not recalling the events.

Close the courts, no news today. It has already happened yesterday. You arrive at dusk.