When We Were Young

by Christopher M. Drew

Lucas van Oort

we’d cut school and crowd the narrow bridge over the railroad, all of us together, while behind us the signalman would open the small window of his hut and bellow, Careful there, lads, step back now, but we’d laugh and on tiptoe lean over the iron railings, our loose shirt tails folding up in the breeze and flakes of rust-green paint crumbling between our fingers, and soon our bones would tremble with a sound like deep thunder and our hearts would merge with the sure beat of the wheels hammering forward and in a blink it would be upon us, screaming like the death rattle of a blazing phoenix, sweeping inches beneath our feet, and in that moment we’d raise our arms as though we were soaring through a towering storm cloud, thrown about by a fierce wind, spiraling out of control, and we’d blink the soot from our eyes, black tears streaming down our dazed faces, and disappear into the whorl of thick smoke billowing around us, and when the smoke cleared we’d stand there, breathless, the taste of sulphur sharp and gritty in our mouths, until the last fragile wisps had dissolved into the clean golden light breaking through the stirred trees, then the signalman would shout, Move along now, lads, move along, and we’d shoulder our bags and in silence cross the bridge, each of us heading our separate ways home.

---

Christopher M. Drew hails from Sheffield, UK. His short fiction has appeared in journals such as SmokeLong Quarterly, Forge Literary Magazine, Lunate Fiction, and others. You can connect with Chris on Twitter @cmdrew81, or through his website cmdrew81.wordpress.com.