Prompt: Use part of your February 2nd freewrite in your piece.
The clack of train on tracks echoed slightly, cut off by the blare of the whistle. I leaned back, supporting myself with my arms, locking my elbows behind me. The air was pleasant, the dried leaves that cluttered the clearing floor rustled beneath a light breeze.
I stretched my legs out in front of me, crossing my ankles. I heard the train whistle again. I watched the tracks before me. The trees whispered in the breeze, barely audible over the sound of the tracks and train.
It came past me, clattering along. Its wheels churned, driven by the long metal arms at their edges. I tried to read the graffiti on the sides of the cars – the smilie faces, the names and gang names – but I missed most of them. There was just an impression of sharp-edged shapes and colors. The train was moving too quickly.
The whistle hooted again and then the train was gone. Its sounds faded into the distance, clacking down the line.
I unlocked my elbows, shifting into Indian style. I couldn’t hear the train anymore. It was too far gone. I scoffed in my throat. Too far gone, just like me. I got out my sketchbook and started doodling – trains and half-formed graffiti gang names and churning wheels. Things that were already gone.