This week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers prompt was a picture of one of my favourite things: an old steam engine. Even if I didn’t always do these prompts, I definitely would have done this one. You can find the prompt here.
Word Count: 145
She watched as it pulled into the platform in the midst of a cloud of dark steam. The smell of it drifted over them all. It was a real, heavy smell, a smell with substance to it.
The engine was glistening, majestic, full of power and elegance. It commanded attention like a king or an emperor. The coaches behind it glistened as well, their magnificent blood-and-custard liveries catching the sunlight.
There was some dirt and ash, of course. Those small blemishes, black marks here and there, just made it more tangible, more real. It was reality, not fantasy.
Years later, she stands on the platform again. It closed years ago, left to be overgrown by wild things. There is no smell now, no engine. There’s nothing but rusty tracks and memory.
But she closes her eyes and she sees that day, clear as a photograph.