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A fine gossamer ache stretched across the divide, fine yet with a purity of strength.
“But it’s not forever,” she breathed haltingly, a more complex thought jostling, “She’s not going to the dying place. Is she?” Her round brown eyes as dark as a newly turned sod; dark, yet sparkling with a vivid intelligence.
“She’s going to Benalla, lovey. Where she lives.” came the reply, trying not to be gruff, reaching deep for the tenderness of the growing seed, for the truthfulness of the straight furrow, a strange land.
Imperceptibly, she leant back into his shoulder, as the guard’s arm waved along the platform, the air filling with the groaning of the carriage and the grating of wheel on rail. The ghostly figure within the cabin raised a tentative hand, as she was eased along the platform and out of sight.
The girl, shoulders slumped, entered a patch of silence.
6 comments:
I was never one to get emotional at departures except for the time I felt that 'gossamer ache stretching across the divide' to my sister who was going to that 'dying place'.
For short pieces like this it's a good story when the appeal touches a universal place ... it's a good story.
Thank you. It is satisfying that I have helped you revisit that place.
To this as a piece of writing, it was hard not to talk from the perspective of the woman in the train. Lucky that I have the 150 word limit.
A terrific word picture. I would feel like that saying good bye to Carol_Ann when she went to London....but no more hopefully.
Moving riff, Julie. Such deep sadness, from the gossamer ache to the patch of silence. If I had to read this aloud, I think I’d be struggling to keep it together.
There you have just caugt the emotion at its fullest !
Excellent photo...Excellent prose.
So good that each can stand alone.
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