Photo prompt: © Jennifer Pendergast
There was nothing left to stay for.
Not much to pack, but still he managed to stuff the duffel with odds and ends. More for feel than for utility.
He won’t be coming back.
The empty cars stood, cooling, on the rails. There was an echo in his bones even with no movement. Even without any sound.
He scanned for danger. One never knew, and he had had enough surprises.
When nothing stirred, he climbed aboard. The metal floor smelled of pee and rats, but at least he’d sleep with a wall at his back tonight, a door barred shut.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Na'ama Yehuda 
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