Clickety-clack clickety-clack – rolling down the railway tracks comes the train in the fog. Passing through the small town, it rumbles by my grandma’s house, shaking the place to its foundations.
Once there was a paper-mill just on the other side of the tracks. In those days the clickety-clack must have been a constant back-ground noise, like the cicada’s are now the constant sound of summer.
When the factory closed, the town went to sleep and now, only dreams of prosperity hearing the passing of the occasional trains, going somewhere else.
the town falls into winter
its factory closed
© G.s.k. ‘15
Written for Friday Fictioneers