Michael Wombat Week 156: Echoes

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Michael Wombat’s Picture Choice: 2

Title: Echoes

..the sleepers are spaced perfectly for my natural stride, almost as if each one magically appears in exactly the right place just before my foot meets the ground. My bare soles delight in the feel of rough wood, warm on this spring afternoon. Long weeds caress my ankles. The flowery nightdress excites my thighs as I follow the curve of the rusted, corroded track ahead.

I am looking forward to surprising Percy, working all alone in the tiny signal box ahead. I shall climb the steps silently, creep up behind him and slide my hand down his trousers. He will kiss me, lift off my nightdress, and make love to me in the pauses between the passing of trains. This time, this time, I will reach him and we will make love.

The sleepers vibrate against my feet, and I look down, puzzled. The rails sing. The 15:10 to Windmill End, twenty minutes late as it is every day, hits me full in the back. The wheels slice through my neck and my thighs, quartering me and splashing crimson over the willow-herb, dandelion and dock leaves that grow between the rails. My last sight is of the endless arc of the old, abandoned railway track. The rails are rusted after decades of disuse, and the sleepers are spaced perfectly for my natural stride, almost as if each one magically appears…

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Michael Wombat has published several books - search for him on Amazon, or go talk to him on Twitter where he is @wombat37.

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