I stood in the unstable, sinking gravel. The morning mist crowded my field of vision, and the smell of a nightly rain hung in the air. This was my favorite place. These tracks were my escape; a nostalgic escape. I heard the faint sound of a horn far off in the distance. I closed my eyes and knelt down, pressing my hand on the cool metal. I felt a slight rumble as the horn grew louder.
A scream ripped from Aliya’s throat as her husband tripped and fell onto the train tracks. As he struggled to move, the Amtrak continued to plow on, unaware of the body lying there.
Walking along the side of the tracks, she couldn’t understand why people would throw themselves in front of them. Why he had thrown his body in front of the freight train. And for a split second, as she hears the loud and obnoxious horn, she wonders.
Would she see him, if she stepped forward?
If she took the step, in front of those tracks…
She missed him. She had loved him. She had so many questions…He had left her in a gruesome, horrific way.
If she took the step, would she find him again? Would she be able to ask him the questions, that have been hounding her? Pulsing in her head? Causing her to wake up at night?
The freight train was closer now.
And she took a step. A step that proved she’d made her decision.
And as the train roars over the tracks, she walks the opposite direction. Because she let him go. It was the first step in moving on. And she would never look back.
He saw the tracks and knew that the anim,al was neaar. He listened, moved slowly forward through the bush, but too late the beast with jaws wide leapt high its sharp claws open to sstrike. Unfortunately Jack was too slow and – is no more.
There were tracks leading away from it, down to the beach. They looked like those of a large dog, but Victor knew there were no dogs on the island. He followed them to the water’s edge, thinking he would lose them, but they turned sharply right just where the waves were breaking. The interval between them increased, indicating that whatever he was following had broken into a run, so he started jogging alongside them, until they finally led back up the beach and into a cave. He carefully approached the opening and looked inside. There was his girlfriend, giggling uncontrollably, with a sign that said “Congratulations on your 10,000th tweet!”
The tracks to the airport today! We ended up going to the airport to drop the girls to their trip to Ireland. The bus driver fell asleep or couldn’t wake up!!! Good side: more time to say goodbye!! Next time: do not trust the driver. The drivers. Any drivers. Watch the time….
This is how I’d run her down. Use my sharp edged tongue to disarm her and drop her to her knees with a punch of reality. When she’s vulnerable, looking up and begging for mercy, I kick her between the eyes with the brutal truth, and leave tracks of messy facts all over her pretty dress.
It was on that side that I found her early in the morning. Steam was still coming off the body as I stared from the other side, trying to muster the will to cross. It couldn’t have been long before when it happened. Even from this distance that was apparent.
the tracks appeared endless. she was faced with the task of selecting one. always a difficulty for her when options are granted. choosing one. she much rather be nudged in the direction she should choice, the wind, a hand, anything choosing for her.
Her tracks have led her down hard paths all her life, but she had the hope that one day soon they would become easier for her to tread, and that she would not be walking those paths alone.
so you think you are fats? making tracks? gearing up to move in your old age? what about those numbers then, what are they about? not counting the days, months, whatever until you leave the planet?
They say even the smallest achievements are significant.. That they are the basic elements of humanity’s evolution.
Well, I’m the kind of person who agrees, but wants a little more. I’m the kind of person who wants to set tracks in stone.. Not sand.
I keep back tracking, like why does it have to always go back to you, why cant it be back to the one before you? what about him? her? but no, its always you, back tracking to the one i first loved, the one i first felt true life with… I thought memories would be great, but your my only track
We walked along the train tracks. I couldn’t help but be reminded of when we were kids. We used to do the same thing together. I fumbled around in my pocket for a coin, so I could pay homage to those days. All the times that we lined up coins along the tracks, prepared for pressing.
The officer furiously tracked the criminal down. That bastard was a sneaky one, he almost lost his mind. If not for his partner, he would break down. That guy was so steady, he doesn’t know how he kept his cool. They thought they would be able to capture the criminal, finally have him in their grasp. But for the fourth time, they lost him, outsmarted them. Outsmarted them! Hah! He would not accept that. No. Not this time.
He ran along the side of the train tracks, gulping air in great mouthfuls. The air was beginning to chill with the onset of night. He had to hurry. Once darkness fell, he would not only lose visibility, but what he was looking for might not be findable anymore.
“Aha!”
The man’s feet kicked up gravel as he skidded to a sideways halt, hopping a little to regain his balance as he immediately shot forwards at a right angle. Three seconds later he collapsed to his knees, laughing breathlessly, excitedly.
Before him was a great silver train. It was oddly futuristic, all curves and sweeping edges, its gleaming metallic form brushed to a shine that was still unblemished. Its impeccable structure stood in stark contrast to the position it was in: it lay in a haphazard jumble, tangled and twisted upon the rusty tracks as if it had been thrown upon them by a particularly large and angry child.
Most notably, though, was the fact that this entire mess of locomotion was only visible from a certain spot on the railroad tracks.
The man reached up from his awed position, suddenly tempted to run his hands over that beautiful wreck. He was dying to know whether or not it could be touched, but the ghostly nature of the engine seemed to loom over his own corporeality and he could not help but hesitate. The thought of flesh and bone meeting that strange metal was undeniably disconcerting. What sort of reaction would that trigger? Would the train disappear from view for good? Would he? Would something even worse happen? The man didn’t want to risk it, so he lowered his hands and stood resolutely back up. His curiosity had been dampened, but his sense of purpose was not. He had sought out this strange machine for a reason, and he would have to trust his eyes rather than his hands for now, no matter how bizarre this situation appeared to them…
she stomped hard
into the ground,
trying hard to leave a track
a footprint, a mark, a trace,
anything.
she pounded the ground with her fists
until they bled
used her fingernails as knives
and her tears as bullets
to try to pry open the indestructible surface
but she couldn’t leave a single track on the ground that was life
years later, someone would look at the rough ground
and never suspect she was ever there at all
oh, i can see your tracks… those are the opening lyrics to a laura veirs song that i love. i remember leaving pennies, nails, forks, whatever we could find on the train tracks in wilbur, i remember the taste of the dust. now i am thinking about sixty seconds and the tracks i am making here, letters one after the other showing where my thoughts go.
As the train rolled down the tracks, the girl checked left and right before she took a step forward. She had to be extra cautious, as she did not want the same thing that happened to her older brother to happen to her. With a careful step, she took off across the tracks, though she has no reason to rush, as the train was long gone.
Walking on the tracks seems like a dangerous thing to do. What tracks you may ask? Well, you’re probably thinking of train tracks, afraid a train will hit you. When really, the tracks that could lead you astray are ones made by human feet.
Tears made their tracks down his face as he watched with saddened reluctance. There was nothing the boy could do to fix this. Nothing to prevent it. And so, he cried.
The footprints could belong to any woman, but he desperately hoped they belonged to HER.
He and she had plenty of unfinished business and the day hadn’t been kind to him.
i could write something deep and insightful
but my painting is ruined and i’m going to fail art and math
who cares anymore?
(i cry while meditating. i’m a pretentious loser.)
tracks
fracks
lacks
there you go.
as you can see i am not lacking in skill.
There are tracks that circle the neighborhood, down the block and around the corner. The tracks lead from the forest but never back. Mama says they’re the footprints of faeries who travel outside of the wood to see how the world is aged, Deuce says they’re the tracks of Old Man Black.
They stretch from one side of darkness to the other. I step onto them, for the first time in a long time. How long has it been since there were trains in my dreams? A long time. Perhaps hundreds of nights.
I don’t believe in dream symbolism all too strongly, but I know two things about my dreams to be true:
1. Trains are a sign that there is something good happening;
2. Large bodies of water is a sign of something frightening.
I stand on the tracks and look across at the forest of bare, skeletal white trees. They are almost red against the misty dark backdrop of my dreaming. I start to walk along the tracks in a roughly easterly direction. I wonder if and when a train will come, whether or not I will get on it, where it will take me and who I will meet. And I wonder if my dream will last long enough for all of those things to happen.
We followed the train tracks all the way until they disappeared into the floodwater, the dip in the stone allowing for the storm to create a brand new sort of artificial pond. Troy was itching to drop a couple pieces of broken gravel into the pool to see how deep it was, but I preferred to test it with a stick. The first broken branch I found was way too short, and I lost my grip on it while dipping it into the murky water.
The tracks led off the trail and into a wooded area she’d never seen before. It was a risk to leave the allowed path but just the idea that someone, and someone human from the looks of it, had done it before gave her the courage to take the first step toward the unknown.
I stood in the unstable, sinking gravel. The morning mist crowded my field of vision, and the smell of a nightly rain hung in the air. This was my favorite place. These tracks were my escape; a nostalgic escape. I heard the faint sound of a horn far off in the distance. I closed my eyes and knelt down, pressing my hand on the cool metal. I felt a slight rumble as the horn grew louder.
A scream ripped from Aliya’s throat as her husband tripped and fell onto the train tracks. As he struggled to move, the Amtrak continued to plow on, unaware of the body lying there.
Tom’s life ended within seconds.
Walking along the side of the tracks, she couldn’t understand why people would throw themselves in front of them. Why he had thrown his body in front of the freight train. And for a split second, as she hears the loud and obnoxious horn, she wonders.
Would she see him, if she stepped forward?
If she took the step, in front of those tracks…
She missed him. She had loved him. She had so many questions…He had left her in a gruesome, horrific way.
If she took the step, would she find him again? Would she be able to ask him the questions, that have been hounding her? Pulsing in her head? Causing her to wake up at night?
The freight train was closer now.
And she took a step. A step that proved she’d made her decision.
And as the train roars over the tracks, she walks the opposite direction. Because she let him go. It was the first step in moving on. And she would never look back.
“So,” Jenny thought, “this is the music that trains listen to.”
“That’s it.” The voice of her father, a man so large that despite her average height, she looked miniscule.
“Why would a train listen to music?”
“Because trains like tracks.”
“Dammit, dad.”
He saw the tracks and knew that the anim,al was neaar. He listened, moved slowly forward through the bush, but too late the beast with jaws wide leapt high its sharp claws open to sstrike. Unfortunately Jack was too slow and – is no more.
Those eyes are gunna get you killed, man.
There were tracks leading away from it, down to the beach. They looked like those of a large dog, but Victor knew there were no dogs on the island. He followed them to the water’s edge, thinking he would lose them, but they turned sharply right just where the waves were breaking. The interval between them increased, indicating that whatever he was following had broken into a run, so he started jogging alongside them, until they finally led back up the beach and into a cave. He carefully approached the opening and looked inside. There was his girlfriend, giggling uncontrollably, with a sign that said “Congratulations on your 10,000th tweet!”
The tracks to the airport today! We ended up going to the airport to drop the girls to their trip to Ireland. The bus driver fell asleep or couldn’t wake up!!! Good side: more time to say goodbye!! Next time: do not trust the driver. The drivers. Any drivers. Watch the time….
This is how I’d run her down. Use my sharp edged tongue to disarm her and drop her to her knees with a punch of reality. When she’s vulnerable, looking up and begging for mercy, I kick her between the eyes with the brutal truth, and leave tracks of messy facts all over her pretty dress.
turn around. cover. press. impress. turn around. cover. find geography that is hard. run. run. not to hard. press. impress. tiptoe. detour. turn around. cover. cover. cover.
It was on that side that I found her early in the morning. Steam was still coming off the body as I stared from the other side, trying to muster the will to cross. It couldn’t have been long before when it happened. Even from this distance that was apparent.
the tracks appeared endless. she was faced with the task of selecting one. always a difficulty for her when options are granted. choosing one. she much rather be nudged in the direction she should choice, the wind, a hand, anything choosing for her.
Her tracks have led her down hard paths all her life, but she had the hope that one day soon they would become easier for her to tread, and that she would not be walking those paths alone.
I looked at her standing on the other side of the road only to see the her that I loved as long lost tracks of my memory.
See. Finally.
Fresh ones. Drops of blood, broken twigs, crushed grass, leading off to the right. Do we follow? I’m not sure, it’s so exposed out here.
so you think you are fats? making tracks? gearing up to move in your old age? what about those numbers then, what are they about? not counting the days, months, whatever until you leave the planet?
“What kind of animal left these tracks, do you think, son?”
David laughed gleefully. “A deeeer!”
“Very good. And what about these?”
“That’s… a raccoooooon!”
“Great job! And now, for the finale… wait a sec…”
The man looked at the third set of tracks, readjusted his glasses, then whirled around.
It was too late. David’s laugh echoed away into the forest as Bigfoot ran off with him.
They say even the smallest achievements are significant.. That they are the basic elements of humanity’s evolution.
Well, I’m the kind of person who agrees, but wants a little more. I’m the kind of person who wants to set tracks in stone.. Not sand.
I keep back tracking, like why does it have to always go back to you, why cant it be back to the one before you? what about him? her? but no, its always you, back tracking to the one i first loved, the one i first felt true life with… I thought memories would be great, but your my only track
We walked along the train tracks. I couldn’t help but be reminded of when we were kids. We used to do the same thing together. I fumbled around in my pocket for a coin, so I could pay homage to those days. All the times that we lined up coins along the tracks, prepared for pressing.
The officer furiously tracked the criminal down. That bastard was a sneaky one, he almost lost his mind. If not for his partner, he would break down. That guy was so steady, he doesn’t know how he kept his cool. They thought they would be able to capture the criminal, finally have him in their grasp. But for the fourth time, they lost him, outsmarted them. Outsmarted them! Hah! He would not accept that. No. Not this time.
He ran along the side of the train tracks, gulping air in great mouthfuls. The air was beginning to chill with the onset of night. He had to hurry. Once darkness fell, he would not only lose visibility, but what he was looking for might not be findable anymore.
“Aha!”
The man’s feet kicked up gravel as he skidded to a sideways halt, hopping a little to regain his balance as he immediately shot forwards at a right angle. Three seconds later he collapsed to his knees, laughing breathlessly, excitedly.
Before him was a great silver train. It was oddly futuristic, all curves and sweeping edges, its gleaming metallic form brushed to a shine that was still unblemished. Its impeccable structure stood in stark contrast to the position it was in: it lay in a haphazard jumble, tangled and twisted upon the rusty tracks as if it had been thrown upon them by a particularly large and angry child.
Most notably, though, was the fact that this entire mess of locomotion was only visible from a certain spot on the railroad tracks.
The man reached up from his awed position, suddenly tempted to run his hands over that beautiful wreck. He was dying to know whether or not it could be touched, but the ghostly nature of the engine seemed to loom over his own corporeality and he could not help but hesitate. The thought of flesh and bone meeting that strange metal was undeniably disconcerting. What sort of reaction would that trigger? Would the train disappear from view for good? Would he? Would something even worse happen? The man didn’t want to risk it, so he lowered his hands and stood resolutely back up. His curiosity had been dampened, but his sense of purpose was not. He had sought out this strange machine for a reason, and he would have to trust his eyes rather than his hands for now, no matter how bizarre this situation appeared to them…
she stomped hard
into the ground,
trying hard to leave a track
a footprint, a mark, a trace,
anything.
she pounded the ground with her fists
until they bled
used her fingernails as knives
and her tears as bullets
to try to pry open the indestructible surface
but she couldn’t leave a single track on the ground that was life
years later, someone would look at the rough ground
and never suspect she was ever there at all
this is the location of my “website”
oh, i can see your tracks… those are the opening lyrics to a laura veirs song that i love. i remember leaving pennies, nails, forks, whatever we could find on the train tracks in wilbur, i remember the taste of the dust. now i am thinking about sixty seconds and the tracks i am making here, letters one after the other showing where my thoughts go.
As the train rolled down the tracks, the girl checked left and right before she took a step forward. She had to be extra cautious, as she did not want the same thing that happened to her older brother to happen to her. With a careful step, she took off across the tracks, though she has no reason to rush, as the train was long gone.
Walking on the tracks seems like a dangerous thing to do. What tracks you may ask? Well, you’re probably thinking of train tracks, afraid a train will hit you. When really, the tracks that could lead you astray are ones made by human feet.
I find myself standing on the tracks waiting for a train that never comes. No tunnel to speak of; all is light and blinding. Cruel.
Tears made their tracks down his face as he watched with saddened reluctance. There was nothing the boy could do to fix this. Nothing to prevent it. And so, he cried.
The footprints could belong to any woman, but he desperately hoped they belonged to HER.
He and she had plenty of unfinished business and the day hadn’t been kind to him.
i could write something deep and insightful
but my painting is ruined and i’m going to fail art and math
who cares anymore?
(i cry while meditating. i’m a pretentious loser.)
tracks
fracks
lacks
there you go.
as you can see i am not lacking in skill.
There are tracks that circle the neighborhood, down the block and around the corner. The tracks lead from the forest but never back. Mama says they’re the footprints of faeries who travel outside of the wood to see how the world is aged, Deuce says they’re the tracks of Old Man Black.
They stretch from one side of darkness to the other. I step onto them, for the first time in a long time. How long has it been since there were trains in my dreams? A long time. Perhaps hundreds of nights.
I don’t believe in dream symbolism all too strongly, but I know two things about my dreams to be true:
1. Trains are a sign that there is something good happening;
2. Large bodies of water is a sign of something frightening.
I stand on the tracks and look across at the forest of bare, skeletal white trees. They are almost red against the misty dark backdrop of my dreaming. I start to walk along the tracks in a roughly easterly direction. I wonder if and when a train will come, whether or not I will get on it, where it will take me and who I will meet. And I wonder if my dream will last long enough for all of those things to happen.
Next. Next. Ugh, way too sweet. Way too heavy metal. Nope. Not gonna do it. Maybe. Not today. Not ever. Why is this shit even here?
Emma went through her playlist trying to find a song to start her workout. If it kept on like this, she’ll never work any carbs out.
obscured after the storm
never to be recovered
We followed the train tracks all the way until they disappeared into the floodwater, the dip in the stone allowing for the storm to create a brand new sort of artificial pond. Troy was itching to drop a couple pieces of broken gravel into the pool to see how deep it was, but I preferred to test it with a stick. The first broken branch I found was way too short, and I lost my grip on it while dipping it into the murky water.
The tracks led off the trail and into a wooded area she’d never seen before. It was a risk to leave the allowed path but just the idea that someone, and someone human from the looks of it, had done it before gave her the courage to take the first step toward the unknown.
Dick Grayson tracks them down. Tick tock, tick tock, the detective glares at the watch hanging from his neck.
The assassin’s aim was a little off, but what could he do?
He dropped and looked for cover desperately trying to see what options there were in the empty alley. Alley’s shouldn’t be empty he reasoned.
He never got another chance to figure it out what to next.
“You fucked up by the numbers, Sparky. If that doesn’t stop you in your tracks lad, perhaps this other round will.”
Jacques sniffed at the text. Little did he know there were red cross hairs aimed at the back of his head…