Laura

Love and life are like trains.

Laura

            Rain was wriggling on the window of the train as I looked out. The plexiglass was worn from having trimmed so many branches and leaves. In the summer, the trees and bramble by the tracks grew into the path of the railway only to be hemmed hourly. Each time, the sticks that scraped the glass as it passed left an almost imperceptible streak against it, so that as I looked at my reflection infinitesimal grooves formed a wiry half halo from the glow of my cell phone.

            “That’s all I get then?” I said into the receiver.

            “You get what you deserve” came his voice, frantic and bitter. “If it’s any consolation, Laura” he continued in his wounded tone “I’ll remember you as the girl who loved me, not this selfish, cold one.” That was the closest he came to apologizing.

            I didn’t hang up. I let the phone lay in my palm. I focused on my reflection again, and the little slits in the glass that lit up when light struck them at the right angle.

            “Sophie?” he called through the phone. I slipped it into the pocket of my coat without letting the call end.

            My consolation was to be remembered, like how the train remembers the plants it destroys like clockwork with its droll grey impetus. I reached back into my pocket and withdrew my sharpest pen.

           

            I scribbled into the seat before me “Take a little bit of me and let it settle like a microscopic trail on your side. A mark of where you grazed me as your life moved quickly on.”

Author's Note

I find myself always writing as a man, so here's a feminine perspective. Please review/rate/leave comments, they are much appreciated.