(Photo Credit: C.E. Ayr)

There was something unique about trains. There was something even more unique about watching trains. There was something indescribably unique about watching trains arrive at and depart from stations. Shriek, Screech, Sidings, Fishplates, Rhythm, Pattern, Symmetry. Spitting out weary passengers and swallowing enthusiastic ones. But the passage of time was not only obliterating the prosaic but also layering complexities over the simple.

The agonizingly extended groans as the reliable wheels complainingly slowed down their momentum upon the extended tracks, resulting in glittering silvery sparks of friction were now replaced by a smooth frictionless, noiseless gliding in of the locomotive. Even the structure of the train was now a paean to modernism. Elongated nose cones, tainted windows, and an unbelievable speed made it difficult, if not impossible to even keep one’s eye upon the carriages. The train whizzed away in a blur of steel, paint and velocity. Even when in a state of stillness, it never was a tranquil repose. A restless thoroughbred snorting with impatience.

Venky understood that this was the inescapable outcome of progress. A progress that was rampant and remorseless but never repetitive. But his love for ‘train-gazing’ never diminished in either fervor or vigour.

Trains.

(Word Count: 198)

This story was written for Sunday Photo Fiction hosted by Susan Spaulding. For more details visit Here.  To read more of the stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

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