A glass of dandelion and burdock
The clock’s faces showed different times. Instead of a watch my fingers found only the pawn ticket; but what did it matter if I caught the train or not?
She hadn’t said no; only that it couldn’t work, it would be too difficult. Without speaking she’d looked intently at me, her pale face surrounded by dark fur. I’d said nothing and she’d turned and left the station.
Through clouds of steam I glimpsed the engine’s name – ‘Perseverance’. I turned around. I now knew what that last look had meant. Gripping the small box tightly, I started walking towards the exit.
About the author
Paul is an enthusiastic but sporadic writer. He lives in Essex and works in London and uses the two train journeys each day to read books, sleep and, occasionally, to think up stories; sometimes these are even written.
Published April 9 2015