(Copyright Ted Strutz)
This is my Friday Fictioneers submission for the week. The above picture has a strange, haunting quality which seems to have inspired a rare, straight-even sombre- story. It’s a bit of a departure for me and the forced economy of the word limit was probably helpful in keeping my from getting too melodramatic. I’ll be back to frivolity next week, I promise. (Nb-having read some of the other stories, it’s obvious the photo’s of a ferry. I thought it was a train going over a low bridge or by the side of a body of water-a la Penzance)
The train slows on the approach. This is my stop, a short walk from my house. Sally should be back by now, would’ve been back if she’d taken the train to work that morning.
It’s getting dark. I finished late, as usual. The new management work us harder than Mr Evans ever did. Even after the accident, they let it be known that if I took my eye off the ball, there’d be…repercussions. Two day’s compassionate leave for the funeral arrangements and that was it. Nothing personal, they said; they’d a business to run.
A recorded announcement reminds me to take my personal belongings with me. I ignore it, sit back, let the train pull away, let it carry me away till the land runs out. There’s nothing to keep me here anymore.
I look around the carriage; I’m not the only one.