The Last Train Home

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedTime, warped in thewhite winds of winterthe early hours of the dayextending on into foreverlike pearly light rayson the blanketed plainsMidday eventually rollsthrough bell tollingfor those working to lunchgleaming metal thermosesprepared in the dark of mornletting out gasping puffsas aromatic soupsand leftover stews aresupped on for sustenancehuddled over for warmthcrackers crunchingbehind chapped lips

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedShadows start racingtasks hurriedlypaced through atbreakneck speedssnow fallingas flakes pile upa living second-handfor the visual time clockflying as the race tohis final evening punchlast of the year beginsstill no satisfactionBells toll in the distanceas he choicelessly trudges throughsnow, knee-deepafter watching it, dance aboutall day longlaying around while he workedhimself to the dry old bonesleft ground downand weakThe situation starts to feellike the cozy, tucked in groundis taunting himon his long way homeInviting him to give a goat the piles of fluffyfreshly fallen snowhow tough can all thispuffy stuff even be?Screaming to the heavensin exhaustion anddelirious inferioritymissiles launchedhis box for lunchthe book he carriesbut never gets a chance to readStomping both feet in araging displayonly causes furtherpainful delaythe patch of black icebeneath deep obscuring snowcatches his bruised heelsdown he goesback flat on the pavementhead saved by sometreacherous snowTears starting to flowburning skinas they start to freezewhat sort of daywhat sort of entity“don’t you knowI’m your enemywhy, Oh whydid you take me out,while simultaneouslysaving me?”fists pounding the groundin impotent strikesretaliatoryTo the casual onlookerhe is breaking downthrowing punchesin the swirling snowLooking out throughflurrying white dissolvedonly endless seeping blackconstantly attackinghe’s merely fighting backWaiting now,for the last train home

K.B. Silver

Anyone who knows me knows I enjoy doing a writing prompt, this was a photo prompt done for Muserscribe over on medium.com.

The photo struck me with a melancholy tone. It may be partially because I have been listening to a collection on spotify called Beethoven Winter Vibes,

I feel it lends itself to the darker tones of winter—less toward the cheerful, festive ones.

This piece goes through the last day of the year with someone who has been having a tough day, or maybe even a rough year altogether. It watches things get more and more difficult until this person is just spinning out, waiting for their missed train, the last one there will be for the night.