Trains

Anya read through her journal, lost in the faded ink and blackened paper of her old diary. It almost burned to ash, like everything in her old home, a crumpled shell of burnt wood and wallpaper. She could still see it in her mind as she rode off in her mother’s black town car, away from the house with smoke wafting from the broken shutters. 

Everything that Anya saw as they drove to the train station was fire, bright orange and radiating with heat, flickering flames devouring buildings and setting people on fire. She sketched frantic scribbles of yellow and orange, written so harshly it nearly ripped the paper to shreds.

Her mother took her to the train station, a squat building sprinkled with snow on the rooftop, gleaming in contrast to the peeling red brick. She thought of sticking her tongue out and catching the buds of falling snow like flower petals, letting them land gently on her tongue. 

Her mother brushed the snow from her coat as she dragged Anya towards the slippery concrete steps. They were going to be late for the train. They glided on the gilded, smooth marble floors and listened to the hustle and bustle of voices and footsteps. People diverged into different crowds like schools of fish as they left to their own journeys.

Anya and her mother approached the platform, waiting with the other passengers for the train.

“Anya, listen to me. I have business to attend to when you are gone, and I expect you to behave on this trip. Your grandmother is a bit of an eccentric, and you have to not encourage her when she comes up with one of her crazy ideas.” Anya's mom said dryly. 

Anya only nodded, only half-listening. Her mom didn't notice her mind wandering to other places. 

"Are you listening?" 

"Yes."  Anya muttered quickly. 

"No you're not." 

"Okay, fine. I'm sorry, mom.  I'm just anxious." 

Her mom rolled her eyes, something she never did, and Anya laughed. 

"You are so much like my mother it's astonishing."

"Thank you." Anya grinned. 

Anya tried to stay positivel, but watching your house burn down wouldn't make someone very cheerful. First, her mother was dragging her away from Page, their tiny town, away from her friends. She was about to speak with Mr. Fenerman, the arson inspector, that evening regarding the house fire. But she was never able to speak with him, because the next night hermom announced her plans for her to go visit her grandma. 

Even in these unpleasant circumstances, Anya was very excited to see her grandma, Eliza Davies. She was a seamstress in Baltimore, and every woman in her family before her had become seamstresses, designing ball gowns and wedding attire. She had taught Anya what she knew about sewing and restoring old clothes to former glory. Anya always loved visiting during the wintertime, when she could always count on her grandma's home smelling like lemon cookies and black coffee brewing. 

"Pay attention, Anya. One of these days you'll end up in the middle of a busy street with your head in the clouds."  Her mother warned, her voice almost drowned out by the rumble of the train’s horn, the coal-black smoke rising in the gray sky as it slugged its way towards them. One-by-one, people began to board.

"Good luck on your trip. Say hello to your father for me and be good, help your grandmother when you can." her mother said, fiddling with Anya’s dark hair. 

Anya only nodded, kissing her mother’s cheek as she held her suitcase and began towards the train.

That would be the part she only saw in plays, the final goodbye, then the train would leave and the lights would fade, and it would end. In life, like in plays, everything had to end sooner of later. Anya loved going to the theater just for those emotions. It felt like entering another world. 

She was led onto the train and into the dimly-lit hall through rows and rows of vile green seats,  couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness. She would be back soon.

But why does this feel like goodbye?

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Thanks for reading! This is an ongoing piece with more chapters that will be published soon! 

What has been said about this story, "Trains" by published author and judge of the contest, Laurie Faria Stolarz:

Laurie says: “Lovely descriptions. So much textural and sensory detail. This piece is layered with sound and smells and feeling. I have so many questions. I really hope the author continues with this piece. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing more of her work. Very talented.”