Hi there! Over on my Instagram, I’ve started doing a “Short Story Sunday,” and I thought it would be good to bring that over onto this as well, as mostly I just write poetry. This is a little story that I wrote on the train today, which I hope you enjoy.
John looked out the window at the fields flashing past. He was tired, and the accelerated scenery was lulling him into a doze, the jolting rhythm not quite managing to keep him awake. All around him it was the same. The Friday evening commuters’ train was usually a quiet one, but today it was even more so. Not even the small children in the family down the aisle were making that much noise. Everyone was tired, drowsy: the business men and women in their suits; the tourists in their sunglasses; the young couples in their jeans, falling asleep with their heads on each others’ chests.
It was a shame, really. None of them noticed the unexpected change in the scenery, the right turn where they should have gone left, the rising foothills that didn’t belong on their journey towards the fens. By the time they got to the tunnel, everyone was asleep. An hour later, when the train excited the short tunnel, everyone was gone.
The train carried on, into the night.
A Teacup Full of Stories 