The Train Bridge (Excerpt)

The Train Bridge (Excerpt)

So, I just kind of sat down and wrote this yesterday. I'm trying to practise my writing and get back in the feeling of doing it. So, please rate or comment on how good you think this piece is, or if I should make a story surrounding it, etc. I want your opinion!

Chapter 1

Written Excerpt (Written By Myself)

I slowly wandered across the tracks, high above the valley below me, my arms outstretched horizontally as far as they reached. I balanced on a wooden plank, carefully placing one foot in front of another, as if I was challenging myself. The chill that was beginning to seep into the air bit into my skin and the soft wind played with my hair, but I barely noticed. Dusk would be approaching soon and the sky was filled with gray clouds. One hundred feet below me, tall fields of crusty grass seemed to continue forever.
I was still wearing my party dress; a washed out yellow I had kept hidden in my closet for ages. I walked three quarters of the way across to the track, where the platform stuck out from the rest of the tracks; with nothing between the wood and ground but air. I tested the support with my foot, and swiftly jumped onto it. Although this bridge was made over a century before my existence, I did not have much of an incline that it was dangerous. The platform was specifically designed for a person to sit on if they happened to be on the tracks while a train was passing across the bridge- something that didn’t happen often anymore. The train bridge was almost out of use.
I sat on the edge of the platform, my legs dangling below. I pressed my forehead against the wooden railing and squeezed my eyes shut. The first time I had been on these tracks, I had been a young child who had ventured across with brave enthusiasm, jumping from plank to plank, with hopes that a train was near. And I got my wish; a train had come speeding towards the bridge in a matter of minutes. My father had taken me to the bridge many times after, but there was only one occasion that a train had come. It became our thing to do; we would be doing something as simple as watching television, and he would grab the remote, shut it off, jump to his feet and put on his jacket. “We are going to the bridge,” he’d say. And ten minutes later, we would be rolling down the street in his Chevy. We would venture across the bridge and sit on the tracks with a picnic basket with peanut butter and homemade muffins. But never had the train come again, as it did the first October afternoon. I remembered throwing back my head, holding on with all my strength; laughing along with my father as the platform shook- the train only a mere few feet away.
I had never felt so free.
I opened my eyes, and couldn’t stop a tear from slipping down my face. The long grass below blew in the wind like ocean waves, and I couldn’t draw my eyes away from the sight. Another tear slipped, and another after.
I don’t know how long I sat there. It felt like a thousand years had passed before I was able to stand up and wipe the stains the tears had left on my face. The sky was beginning to turn navy and the wind had increased in strength, raising goose bumps on my skin. I attempted to brush the wrinkles out of my dress with my hands, gave one last sigh, and walked back towards the disaster I had escaped from.


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