The Lure of Smashing Pennies

Time was, Rita loved the clickity-clackity of steel wheels on metal rails,
the long, low sound of a whistle at midnight and noon.

For many, the coal-oil scent of trains,
the sight of rails disappearing over the horizon
quickened the heart, caused feet to roam.
Not for Rita. She spread roots and settled.

Then the hoot of the whistle turned to squealing brakes.
Metal grinding on metal replaced the rhythmic clickity-clack
and an iron-scent of blood filled the air.

How many times had she told little Tom, “Keep your coins in your pocket.”?
She hefted her suitcase and locked the door.

 

The Busker

Goodness! Wednesday/Friday has rolled around again. Thanks to Dee, we have snow in July. My 101 word story was inspired by an article on NPR – so, thanks to them, too.

Billy slipped into his shoes, holes and all, and stepped outside. Ice crystals tickled his skin. Snow. Tightening his shabby coat across his ten-year-old chest, he shuffled to the train station. The soles of his feet registered the number of travelers scurrying across the wooden platform – more than usual. Perhaps this would be the day he could buy carrots and potatoes for his mother. Quickly retrieving five leather balls from his pocket, he began juggling – sensing the balls by the change in the air.
Billy heard a coin drop.
“Come away, Stephanie,” a woman said.
“But, Mamma, Blind Billy is back!”

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