His bags are packed, his hat set straight. He checks his watch. The train is late.
Everything was planned, had been planned to the letter. Timetables checked, the parked car filled with precisely the amount of gas he needed so as to get him to his destination without wasting excess money on fuel. They would need what he could spare them.
It is precisely 4.43 am on a cold January morning. Snow drifted gently across the tracks, onto the abandoned platforms, settling on his shoulders, illuminated in the soft lamplight. Good. It would cover his tracks. Two minutes. Two minutes until the train.
He checks his pockets on more time, certain that he's left his chequebook, the majority of his bank cards, his pocketwatch. The picture of his wife and children is still in his breast pocket, and he pulls it out, to glance at it briefly. 'Molly, with Sam (7) and Elsie (5), Summer 1992'. They had taken a train from this very station down to Barnstaple, connected to the coast, and spent a day on the sand. Elsie had got sunburn on her nose, and Sam had caught a crab which he'd begged them to let him keep, but of course they said no. Sam got a dog for Christmas instead.
4.44am. In the distance, he can see the lights of the train, but it's a long straight track; he has a little time yet. He grips his suitcase handle tighter. One of his shoes has a slight scuff on the toe; he bends to swipe at it with his gloved thumb. Molly always polished his shoes when he was too tired to do it. Folded his tie over the back of the chair in their bedroom. Hung his ironed shirt ready. Molly was good. Better than him.
The train is getting closer now, he can begin to feel the rustle of the wind it generates pull at his coat. Snow drifts, catching the light from the headlamps, seem to slow time down. For a split second, as the train eats up the ground between it and the platform edge, he sees them on the opposite platform. Molly in her light summer dress with bare legs and sandals, Sam and Elsie (perplexingly) in their bathing suits. A shaft of something like sunlight. It catches Molly's hair. She looks up, sees him.
The train has made it to the edge of the station now. It should be slowing down, to allow passengers to alight, to board. But it is a goods train, and does not stop at this station. At 4.45am, he is the only person around.
Molly smiles at him from across the platform, as he takes one step out towards her, into the path of the oncoming train.
(Conceived and written in less than ten minutes, using this picture via Lorrie's blog as a prompt)
It is precisely 4.43 am on a cold January morning. Snow drifted gently across the tracks, onto the abandoned platforms, settling on his shoulders, illuminated in the soft lamplight. Good. It would cover his tracks. Two minutes. Two minutes until the train.
He checks his pockets on more time, certain that he's left his chequebook, the majority of his bank cards, his pocketwatch. The picture of his wife and children is still in his breast pocket, and he pulls it out, to glance at it briefly. 'Molly, with Sam (7) and Elsie (5), Summer 1992'. They had taken a train from this very station down to Barnstaple, connected to the coast, and spent a day on the sand. Elsie had got sunburn on her nose, and Sam had caught a crab which he'd begged them to let him keep, but of course they said no. Sam got a dog for Christmas instead.
4.44am. In the distance, he can see the lights of the train, but it's a long straight track; he has a little time yet. He grips his suitcase handle tighter. One of his shoes has a slight scuff on the toe; he bends to swipe at it with his gloved thumb. Molly always polished his shoes when he was too tired to do it. Folded his tie over the back of the chair in their bedroom. Hung his ironed shirt ready. Molly was good. Better than him.
The train is getting closer now, he can begin to feel the rustle of the wind it generates pull at his coat. Snow drifts, catching the light from the headlamps, seem to slow time down. For a split second, as the train eats up the ground between it and the platform edge, he sees them on the opposite platform. Molly in her light summer dress with bare legs and sandals, Sam and Elsie (perplexingly) in their bathing suits. A shaft of something like sunlight. It catches Molly's hair. She looks up, sees him.
The train has made it to the edge of the station now. It should be slowing down, to allow passengers to alight, to board. But it is a goods train, and does not stop at this station. At 4.45am, he is the only person around.
Molly smiles at him from across the platform, as he takes one step out towards her, into the path of the oncoming train.
(Conceived and written in less than ten minutes, using this picture via Lorrie's blog as a prompt)
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ReplyDeleteAn interesting quick read. Depresing but a solution to a problem nevertheless.
ReplyDeleteThanks red head ;-)