Something fun

I belong to a few writer's groups. The owner of one threw out a writing prompt my brain didn't resist, a picture of an Amtrak train and the line "the end of the line." Tacked on was a 500 word limit and fun commenced. Enjoy! “End of the line there,” the conductor spoke.

He nodded. The conductor moved on. He stood up. Time waited for no one, least of all him. Though, he prayed it did. He also prayed for his children and their children. He saw them once or twice a year. If the weather favored travel. If between the work and the schooling, they found some time tucked away, hidden like coins under the sofa cushions. They were good kids, all of them.

He didn’t slouch. His back stayed straight. His dreams tied him to a cane or worse a walker. He imagined a cane wobbling underneath his hands. They stayed steady when he willed it. Otherwise, his fingers trembled to music he never heard. He didn’t have anything wrong. He wasn’t his brother or papa. Old age was a bitch all its own. It acted as karma for youthful wildness.

Outside the train, the wind bit. He still had his hair, thick and gray, but the air brushed his scalp with ice-cold razors. He dawned his hat. Not a flat cap, trucker’s hat or a fedora, just a thing to keep his head warm. It matched his coat. He wanted to look nice. Benches lined the exterior wall of the station. He found one with a view of the road. He waited.

His things came via truck. He resisted long enough, but he wouldn’t burden them, not like his papa did his sister. Once upon a time, his quaking hands used to haul all manner of shit to and for. They held his babies. Now he was something to lug around.

The train arrived early. So, he waited. Glimmers of sunlight reflected off the cars caught his attention. He looked at his watch and sighed. Patience was not his strong suit, and time waited for no one. He stood and walked. It wasn’t far from the station.

The town grown dirtier. Buildings and their shops changed names. They left it all the first chance they had. Young and wild, they knew nothing. Yet, they survived. Eventually, they returned. Wisdom set up shop along with the children. Retirement took them away again. They weren’t young anymore, not wild. They thought they paid old age karma. The gravestone said they were wrong. Old age karma decided what it was due, not them.

It took her fast. He didn’t know if it was a mercy or not. All that mattered was, karma wanted to take its time with him. He talked. If she listened, he didn’t know. A honk caught his attention. His daughter pulled up and fussed. His grandkids smiled wide when he passed them candy. His daughter hugged him and gave him flowers, the kind she loved. He laid them over the gravestone. He was slow to stand up straight. He walked too much. His daughter fussed more and together they walked back to the car. He gave the gravestone one last look.

“End of the line,” he mused. “End of the line.”