Summer with Grandma

"Willow Creek," the conductor's voice crackled over the intercom, sounding thin and tired. "Next stop, Willow Creek." She sat up, her spine rigid. The train began to decelerate, the screech of metal on metal sounding like a warning. The landscape was no longer a blur; it was individual blades of grass, specific clusters of wildflowers, the peeling paint of a distant barn. The train lurched, then slowed to a crawl. The platform of the station appeared-a low, wooden structure that looked like it had been bleached by decades of sun. There were no crowds here. No frantic commuters rushing to catch a connection. Just a long, empty stretch of wood and a single bench that looked like it was waiting for someone who might never come. Eve reached for her bag. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. She stood up, her legs feeling heavy, as if the ground beneath her were already demanding more of her than she knew how to give. As the train came to a final, jarring halt, the silence rushed into the carriage, vast and absolute.

Pagina's: 176, Paperback, Independently published