The End Of Something

He stood in the sun listening to the train as it pulled away, its busy huffing inconsequential and even ludicrous when considered against all this landscape.

It stretched for miles, dusty under an immense sky, the wrinkled hills seeming to waver in the hot air.

He stared at the platform, where, moments before, her suitcases had stood next to his.

His and hers. 

A bitterness came into his throat.

He glanced back at the meager building, the liquor advertisement painted on its beaded curtain, just as it had been.

He could still see the train glittering on the faraway plain.

 

Friday Fictioneers

This photo reminded me of Hemingway”s famous story Hills Like White Elephants, considered by many to be a masterpiece of “show don’t tell.” In the story, no explanations of any kind are given, though the meaning is clearly implied. I took the liberty of writing a coda for this week’s prompt (and used the title of another Hemingway story to add insult to injury).

Comments

  1. 4963andypop

    The wrinkled hills–well said! I like the “white elephants” description too though of course that has other implications. Must go read Hemmingway’s story now.

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