welcome writers & readers! i hope ya'll had a good weekend. the stories posted by sat. & sunday's writers are definitely worth checking out if you haven't had the time yet - thanks posters! as always, thanks to folks who come to read as well. for anyone new who might just be finding write away every day, please know that you are very welcome to write about photo prompts from previous days as the mood strikes you. to post your story, poem or creative non-fiction piece for any photo prompt, click on comments below the pertinent picture.
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i'll simply call today's photo prompt "train yard." come write with me! submit your story by clicking on comments below. 250(ish) words or less - i'm flexible on the word count. here's my story:
"Well now, ma'am, that's a long, skinny story. Come set awhile," he says, opening his door to reveal a kitchen in the round. A circular staircase winds through the ceiling. He points upwards and says, "Bedroom. Settin' room. Lookout deck." I cross to the polished table and sit. He pours coffee, first wiping his hands on a bandana from his pocket.
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Pushing a plate of peanutbutter cookies towards me he says, "The city pays me t' be here. Has for the last forty-odd years since a train wreck killed some foolhardy teens. There was a notion to build a kinda lighthouse on land, and t' hire a guard to watch over the crossing." He shakes his head and takes a bite of cookie. "Not as I can do much if folks are bent on beatin' the train. Course back when I started there wann't a signal. I'd bring out a lantern and wave it around." Some crumbs float off his lips as he takes another sip.
"How many trains come through in a day?" I ask, tapping notes into my iphone. "Used to be right many," he says.
"What do you do between the trains? Aren't you bored?"
"Not a bit. Listen to the radio. Read. Bake," he waves another cookie at me. "Talk to nosy, I mean pretty, reporters writin' about washed up geezers and county tax dollars." He smiles and I clear my throat.
"So have you saved any lives," I ask. He's silent for a moment. "I reckon two, maybe three. Talked some jumpers off the ledge, so to speak. Nudged a coupla runaways in the direction of home. You tell me. Have I earned my keep?" I look down, rubbing my finger around a knothole in the wood.
"The way I look at it," he says, "I'm priceless. You are priceless." I sigh and put my phone away. "Thanks for the cookies and coffee," I say. "And, just, thank you." He smiles and re-fills my cup.
looking forward to what other writers make of today's photo. enjoy!
