The Last Train-ers

Impromptu Writing Prompt Wednesday

Hello, again dear Readers!

I would like to say I am back, but I can’t really promise it is so. There has been a lot of upheaval/strife in my life at the moment which has made dealing with my depression a little more difficult. I am going to do my best to try and write as much as possible. I miss you all.

Daily-Writing-Prompts-1

Whenever I passed through the sliding door into the forced air heating of the tin can train car my eyes had always been greeted by the usual suspects. I always called us the last train-ers. (Unique I know.) 

I never knew their names to be completely honest but I had made up what I thought they might be. 

There was Matilda who reminded me of the actress who played the character from the movie now all grown up. She had the same red ribbon tied in her bob styled brown hair. She always muttered under her breath and I never knew if she was singing to some song in her head or talking to the demons only we could see. 

Fred was one of my favourites. I used to imagine he was an old train conductor by the hat he always wore pulled down making his white hair puff up like owl tufts over his ears. I believed when his hand nervously went to his pocket it was to grab an old fashioned gold pocket watch to make sure the train was running on time. He never actually produced anything from that pocket but held his hand protectively over it like some form of tick. 

Johnson had the most beautiful skin which reminded me of hot chocolate on that perfect snowy winter day. I knew he had to be a musician (like the namesake I had given him) from the callouses on the tips of his fingers to the way he drummed a beat on the bar of the seat in front of him. I had been half in love with him since the first time I started taking the last train. (I say half because I can’t possibly be completely in love with someone I have never spoken to.) But I do know he can sing. One night when he thought everyone on the train was asleep I heard his voice vibrate softly against the window. It sounded like heaven.  

Finally, there was me. I wonder what they would have called me. I would like to have been an Ever or a Prairie. Something like the protagonist’s name in a novel. They would probably think I was a Brittany or a Carly. Something that might have an i instead of a y. They would say I was non-descript with dishwater blonde hair and eyes a murky brown which were often shielded behind my spectacles. Someone easily overlooked, rarely seen. 

As the train pulled into the station with the autumn breeze blowing leaves onto the track, there was one minor difference to all the nights before, tonight one of us was missing.  

 

I hope you enjoyed this Writing Prompt Wednesday on the fly literary lovelies. I am going to try and make a concentrated effort to post more even if life tries getting in the way.

I wish you all the best!

xo

Honestly Austen

Postscript: Who do you think is missing from the train? And is it for nefarious reasons?

 

 

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