By Craig Gist
Every morning I wake to the sound of the trains. They are my companions, but it’s strange how I’d never noticed them before. After so many days alone in this room I now know the schedule by heart, and there is no need for an alarm because the whistles are more accurate than any clock. Lying alone I prepare to fight yet another hangover while the smell of stale booze surrounds me. I debate opening my eyes to the filthy room as I hear the latest train fading into the distance, sounding exactly as it did on the day she left.
Unexpected, punched in the gut ending
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You sure have a way to capture your audience!
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I can hear the trains
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Sad but very good!!
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There’s something about a train. Good one.
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Read many of your stories. Lived a few. You paint a great picture with words
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Always love reading your work.
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A nice, gritty tale of a lost love–and a lost life. LIKED IT!
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Keep doing what comes natural.chasrg
So much is said in such few words, painting a clear woeful picture.