the end of the line

the end of the line

fiction
edward w pritchard

At the end of the line we are standing at the small station maybe with a bag or two. The train rumbles on its way, full of passengers, going on with the run.

We stand at the station not sure where to go and slowly our realization comes that it's the end of the line. Maybe we watch the train head off down the tracks before we reach for our bags. Maybe we look one last time up the tracks to where the train came from.

Everyone likes to listen to the sound of train whistle for as long as it's audible when it's the end of the line. Straining the senses to hear the sound of the whistle moaning into the perpetuity.