Hidden in the hot mist of movement, a shadow. Tall, lumbering in fact and yet unnoticed in the bustle of another rush homeward.
The conductor, maybe. Or a commuter perhaps. Gaps of humanity filling in the mass of mindless flesh passing in unfamiliarity. There is no clarity in their thoughts. They are travelling from here to there.
Successful ventures brought him to the big city. But, a failing marriage and an equally futile affair brings him to board this behemoth; through the fog.
The platform clears. All that remains is the shadow and the clacking of heels on the iron stairs. She's missing her train. Again the steam rises, and the heated hiss surprises her. He stands unmoved by it. He has heard it thousands of times. It has become his insanity. He had released vanity years ago.
The tracks are empty for a moment. The steam dissipates. And as she nervously reaches for her cell phone, she feels a hand in here pocket that is not hers. Whipping around for a glimpse, she see nothing at all. A new arrival on track 3. More steam, ominous orange neon flashes and whispers.
"Get on the train" It fills her ears. More hiss than whisper. Was the locomotive beckoning her?
"Get on the train!" it repeated.
Mindlessly she walked, her trance compelling and telling her to proceed cautiously. She felt sick. Unsettled. She felt the rush of movement behind her as instinct and fear worked in tandem. She stepped to her right behind the concrete abuttment.
The shadowy figure lay mangled on the track. He has come to his end the way it had been explained to him. The voices called and whispered. More hiss than whisper. He was helping the lady, he was convinced of it. Only it was she who was helping him. She was his insanity; a figment of his wild ramblings. He gambled with the idea that whatever was following him, wouldn't survive the jump in front of the train engine.
She was gone. It was unsure if she even ever was. The investigation found his missing hand on the platform. And they never could explain the clacking noise deep within the train tunnel. It just kept moving deeper into the void. An eternity in transit.
RJ Clarken's first YA novel PENNY WISHES was published by Lilley Press in 2009. She is also the author of a quirky, offbeat collection of humorous poetry, MUGGING FOR THE CAMERA. She lives in NJ with her husband, son and daughter (twins!) and her crazy Cairn terrier.
Casey McCormick is an aspiring YA writer and active blogger. She lives in California with her husband, two young children, and a lazy coonhound named Trever.
Michael Grove is a new addition to Flashy Fiction and will offer his slant on Wednesdays. Welcome aboard Mike!
Walt Wojtanik -- Thursday
Walt Wojtanik's poetry collection WOOD was released in 2011. His second collection, I AM SANTA CLAUS will be released later in 2012. He has written and staged three plays, and is a musician. Walt lives in NY, is married with two daughters.
Hannah Gosselin is a free spirit and beautiful soul blessed with a poet's heart and photographer's eye. She is perpetually inspired by love shared with her husband and their two young sons and is awestruck by beauty in nature. She enjoys indulging in heart-work: writing, dance and visual arts. Hannah was awarded a diploma by the Institute of Children’s Literature located in West Redding, Connecticut, for the successful completion of the course: “Writing for Children and Teenagers,” on April, 19th, 2010.
HANNAH'S BLOG
Deb Markanton -- Saturday
Deb Markanton is an aspiring YA & MG writer currently hard at work coaxing the stories in her head to play on paper. She lives in Los Angeles with her two dogs, Maddy and Mugsie.
Visit her blog to see what bit of nonsense has inspired her today.
De and Laurie -- Sunday Sisters
De Miller Jackson is half of our Sunday team we call "Sunday Sisters". She wanted to be a Poet-Pirate-Princess when she grew up, but is (mostly) happily settling into the role of Mom/Freelance Writer. (Some days that slash cuts deeper than others.) She writes advertising copy, runs gleefully with scissors, plays well with poems…and has also penned a couple of children’s books that need a little magic fairy dust to find illustrator and publisher. You can read her stuff at whimsygizmo.wordpress.com.
Laurie Kolp is the other half of our Sunday tandem. She is a mother of six (including husband and two dogs)and maintains three blogs with numerous publications to her credit which includes most recently Chicken Soup for the Soul: Devotional Stories for Tough Times, The Dead Mule’s School Society of Southern Literature, Christmas Miracles, The Christian Communicator, Skive Magazine. Her poem Infatuation will be published in an upcoming issue of Writer’s Digest Magazine.
The steam rises.
ReplyDeleteHidden in the hot mist of movement, a shadow. Tall, lumbering in fact and yet unnoticed in the bustle of another rush homeward.
The conductor, maybe. Or a commuter perhaps. Gaps of humanity filling in the mass of mindless flesh passing in unfamiliarity. There is no clarity in their thoughts. They are travelling from here to there.
Successful ventures brought him to the big city.
But, a failing marriage and an equally futile affair brings him to board this behemoth; through the fog.
The platform clears. All that remains is the shadow and the clacking of heels on the iron stairs. She's missing her train. Again the steam rises, and the heated hiss surprises her. He stands unmoved by it. He has heard it thousands of times. It has become his insanity. He had released vanity years ago.
The tracks are empty for a moment. The steam dissipates. And as she nervously reaches for her cell phone, she feels a hand in here pocket that is not hers. Whipping around for a glimpse, she see nothing at all. A new arrival on track 3. More steam, ominous orange neon flashes and whispers.
"Get on the train" It fills her ears. More hiss than whisper. Was the locomotive beckoning her?
"Get on the train!" it repeated.
Mindlessly she walked, her trance compelling and telling her to proceed cautiously. She felt sick. Unsettled. She felt the rush of movement behind her as instinct and fear worked in tandem. She stepped to her right behind the concrete abuttment.
The shadowy figure lay mangled on the track. He has come to his end the way it had been explained to him. The voices called and whispered. More hiss than whisper. He was helping the lady, he was convinced of it. Only it was she who was helping him. She was his insanity; a figment of his wild ramblings. He gambled with the idea that whatever was following him, wouldn't survive the jump in front of the train engine.
She was gone. It was unsure if she even ever was. The investigation found his missing hand on the platform. And they never could explain the clacking noise deep within the train tunnel. It just kept moving deeper into the void. An eternity in transit.