Mystery
Last Stop: Madison
Clunk-clunk… clunk-clunk… clunk-clunk… The train glided over the rails sailing through the darkness like a large metal cloud grazing the grass as it blows by. A young man no older than fifteen lies asleep in a private compartment. He is dressed in a beige and black houndstooth pullover sweater, the white collared shirt underneath is wrinkled and a bit messy, jeans with a rolled-up cuff, and black scuffed-up shoes. He shows no sign of modern devices like cell phones or smartwatches. His hair is neatly groomed, albeit a bit messy from sleeping, but still well-groomed. Outside the window, the sun of dawn is cresting over the horizon line and the young man rustles awake. He sits up slowly, takes in his surroundings and jumps back further into the seat cushions with a startle. He is completely unaware of where he is, where he's going and how he got there. Looking out the window provides no help as there's nothing for miles in any direction. The boy checks his pockets to find nothing but pocket lint. There is no ticket, pamphlet, or anything to indicate where he might be headed or where he’s coming from. With a slight panic and a hint of worry, he pokes his head out of the compartment door and looks down the hallway to find not a soul.
By Michelle Tasker3 years ago in Fiction
The Last Stop
I knew something was wrong when I woke to the sound of muffled wind and squealing metal. My body shook against whatever I had been sleeping on. It was like lying on a couch with no padding; one that didn’t extend far because as I shifted my legs, they fell off an edge. I reached my hand out to stabilise myself. The object I held was rough on the outside, but my hand sunk into it. It felt like an old carpet. I didn’t want to open my eyes. The dark was more comfortable. That was until a bump sent me flying sideways, and I slammed my head against something hard.
By Maddi Clarke3 years ago in Fiction
Curious: Chapter 1
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say .I always wondered what was out there, or whether there was anything out there at all. I always looked up at the sky at night with wonder, particularly when I was out for a late-night run.
By Carol Ann Townend3 years ago in Fiction
Wonder
It wasn't the cold air blasting on my face that woke me up. A pounding headache forced me to open my eyes but my sight was blurry and the sun was unnaturally bright. My right arm trapped under my body, ached at the joints. I carefully attempted lifting my body and sat there on all fours, looking around me.
By Angeliki Anagnostakou3 years ago in Fiction
Apprehension
The man opende his eyes and realized that he had been unconscious. There was the gentle click-clack of the wheels on the track. The man realized that he was on a train. What was going on? The man sat up and rubbed his eyes and looked around. How long had he been unconscious? The man looked around the train car and realized that he was in a seat and had been leaning against the window. There were a lot of seats in the train car, and all but one was empty. The man got up and looked around, there were no other people except a woman unconscious in a near-by seat. The man walked up to the woman and gently tapped her on the shoulder.
By Shanyn Behn3 years ago in Fiction
Train of Thought
Rain smacked against the fog coated window. Its tat tat tat slowly prompted Parker’s eyelids to peel open — her head leaning against the cold hard glass. The sky outside was flickering with bouts of lightning, but the sun was still slightly visible.
By Chanelle Leonhardt3 years ago in Fiction
1931
The year is 1931: Edgar awoke to the startling wail of the steam engines whistle. It’s shrill, perennial song caused a sharp pain in his ears and instinctively he clasped his hands over his ears. When it subsided, he was roused from his trance by a deep, silky laugh just in front of him. He sheepishly released his small, perky ears and looked up to see quite frankly the most resplendent individual he’d ever cast eyes on. The man’s coat was a deep red, that had a beautiful shimmer to the material that Edgar assumed was silk. It flowed like oceanic waves and was offset by a parade of shiny, thick, black buttons that Edgar couldn’t help but stare at for a moment. There was something oddly hypnotic about them, a depth in their darkness that was like looking into the deepest abyss. The coat was open, revealing a black waistcoat of a similar material to the coat, perfectly complimenting the buttons. He looked to the man’s face, hardly defined in the dim light of the carriage they were in and thought he seemed rather pale (in this light at least) His cheekbones protruded proudly, and a sharp jawline was adorned with a shortly trimmed beard. He had a thin moustache, as dark as the buttons, that stretched across his face and had a shine that suggested he oiled it. His face was framed with long flowing hair that rested just below his shoulders. He noticed Edgar’s gawking and composed himself swiftly.
By Michael Coffey3 years ago in Fiction
