Second practice from the Finding Your Voice class I bought from Holly Lisle. This is not an affiliate link, although if you decide you want to buy a class from her, you can contact me, and I’ll set on up so we both benefit. *smile*
The train rumbles past me, screaming across the tracks, and I mourn its passing the way I would mourn seeing one last dinosaur. When the dust settles I’m left standing, alone in the shade of an aged train station, once prosperous, now derelict.
The train wasn’t coming back. This was exile, sentenced and executed.
I pick up my bag, lift my chin, and walk up to the counter where a withered old man closes the register for one final time. My shadow falls across the counter, and he jerks his head up, nearly braining himself on the low beams of the ceiling.
“Miss, you’ve missed the train. It ain’t coming back–”
“Where do you live?” I say, and he pauses.
“Near the mesa,” he says finally. “Old farm for an old man, nothing you’d want, such a fine young lady–”
“Thank you so much for having me. I promise, I won’t be in your way.” I heft my bag and gesture for him to come out from behind the counter.
“Miss–” he says, but I put on my bet pitiable expression, one that has worked on hardier souls than he.
“I have no where else to go,” I whisper, and if this is the truth, all the better for my sincerity.
His gnarled fingers linger on the register as he looks me over. I look back, shoulders slumped, and wait. Sometimes silence works best.
“Well,” he mumbles, and then he signs. “What’s your name, Miss?” And I know I’ve won.
