Double-length today, because as long as I'm breaking all of my own rules, I might as well give a story room to breathe a bit. This one is inspired by my friend Lanse's models, a belated response to his invitation to write a story about any figure on his gallery page.
---
The day the trains grew legs, I was hunting. I didn't find out about it till I got home
with two fresh conies and a powerful thirst.
Just up and walked away.
"Where'd they go?" I asked, staring at the
platter-sized footprints.
Everyone shrugged.
"Away," said Toby.
"They won't be coming back, I don't reckon."
Well, there was nothing for it but to take over, just like
I'd done for Bess after Pa went. I
handed my conies to Toby, took a drink from the water tank, and stepped onto
the tracks.
Sometimes I wonder about them trains, where they got to and
what they did there. I wonder if they
kept their legs for walking free or if they built their own tracks. I take a bit longer to get up to speed, and I
work up a mighty thirst even now, but there ain't no one else.
When it all gets too much, I tilt back my head and whistle
with all my might into the dark. Sometimes
I fancy I hear someone calling back across the plains, but I won't ever know
for sure it isn't an echo. I can't leave
the tracks. Not now. Not anymore.
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