| General Fiction posted August 19, 2020 |
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What would happen ? Fiction
Fellow Traveller
by zanya
The train station was quieter than usual. Covid19 had dispersed crowds.
That Monday, just after lockdown began to lift, I planned a train journey out of town to catch up with a colleague. Arriving an hour ahead of my train schedule,I waited in line for a comforting hot chocolate and prepped to settle in for the long wait.
Plonking my backpack on the empty seat next to mine, I took a sip of my chocolate and fished out my ipad. Chance for some creativity. Maybe pen a Haiku about a Spring day during Covid. Or a Flash Fiction about unrequited love since the young man standing by the wall looked the picture of dejection. A train station could be a writer's paradise.
Shortly thereafter, a middle-aged man, greying at the temples stood at the socially distanced table alongside mine. I felt irked, not really sure why. Had I begun to relish this extra bit of space in public places? Who knows the myriad of consequences the aftermath of Covid may bring?
He clutched a big tome, with Shakespearian Sonnets emblazoned on the front cover. As I scrolled through my Thesaurus to hunt down some more poetic terms for the ordinary everyday, I heard the man mumbling to himself as he seemed to test metre and rhyme.
Being one of life's introverts, I was happy to work on my ipad and thereby conceal the nature of my activity.
'Damn it,' I heard the man mutter, 'Shakespeare never had to sit in a dilapidated train station on a Monday afternoon to create his masterpiece.'
'How do you know,' I blurted out spontaneously.
Staring at me, over the rim of his reading glasses, his wrinkled face broke into a smile.
'Have to post a Sonnet for the competition,' he murmured, as if talking to no one in particular.
I returned to my ipad and continued my search.
'Last time I came second,' he proffered.
I ignored the comment.
'This time I want to make it to the winner's enclosure.'
By now his laptop screen was open, with the Fanstory logo clearly visible.
He looked in my direction. 'Ever heard of these guys, Fanstory,' he enquired.
'Yep,' I replied figuring monosyllabic answers might succeed in curbing conversation. After all I was still in the throes of hunting down words for a suitable sartori for my Haiku.
'Clears my brain after a long day at the office,' he continued. 'Difficult to find a writing site where you get instant feedback. A winning formula.'
I hadn't yet blown my cover. Nonchalantly laying my ipad on the cafe table, he took a sideways peek.
'What are the odds? You're one o'them too, a Fanstorian.'
We both smiled conspiratorially.
'Never met a Fanstorian in the flesh, so to speak,' I said.
'Me neither,' he added.
'Sometimes I think maybe they're just a bunch of robots, like Alexa, posing as flesh and blood poets. Wonder what the Bard would have made of them ?'
Laughing loudly at the suggestion, I replied, 'Never thought of that. Would make a great topic for one of the short story contests.'
'I'm just a Sonnet's man myself,' he continued.
'After a day spent doing spreadsheets there is nothing I love more than penning a Sonnet. Don't really care who reads it or if they like it or not. It soothes my soul. Do you write sonnets?'
'No Sonnets are not for me,' I replied,' more of a short story gal myself,' I answered.
'Oh, you pen some of that sci-fi or who dunnit?'
By now my late train was rolling into the station. Grabbing my ipad, I ran to the platform with a twinge of regret. We hadn't even introduced ourselves but simply merged beneath the umbrella of being Fanstorians, like some newly formed political group.
Glancing back at the Fanstorian bent over his Sonnet, I felt a degree of kinship and a warm glow. Here in the dark days of a pandemic, we Fanstorians, are not only soothing our own spirits with ethereal sentiment but maybe also the spirits of our readers.
Wonder what his penname is?
=======================
What Would Happen? contest entry
The train station was quieter than usual. Covid19 had dispersed crowds.
That Monday, just after lockdown began to lift, I planned a train journey out of town to catch up with a colleague. Arriving an hour ahead of my train schedule,I waited in line for a comforting hot chocolate and prepped to settle in for the long wait.
Plonking my backpack on the empty seat next to mine, I took a sip of my chocolate and fished out my ipad. Chance for some creativity. Maybe pen a Haiku about a Spring day during Covid. Or a Flash Fiction about unrequited love since the young man standing by the wall looked the picture of dejection. A train station could be a writer's paradise.
Shortly thereafter, a middle-aged man, greying at the temples stood at the socially distanced table alongside mine. I felt irked, not really sure why. Had I begun to relish this extra bit of space in public places? Who knows the myriad of consequences the aftermath of Covid may bring?
He clutched a big tome, with Shakespearian Sonnets emblazoned on the front cover. As I scrolled through my Thesaurus to hunt down some more poetic terms for the ordinary everyday, I heard the man mumbling to himself as he seemed to test metre and rhyme.
Being one of life's introverts, I was happy to work on my ipad and thereby conceal the nature of my activity.
'Damn it,' I heard the man mutter, 'Shakespeare never had to sit in a dilapidated train station on a Monday afternoon to create his masterpiece.'
'How do you know,' I blurted out spontaneously.
Staring at me, over the rim of his reading glasses, his wrinkled face broke into a smile.
'Have to post a Sonnet for the competition,' he murmured, as if talking to no one in particular.
I returned to my ipad and continued my search.
'Last time I came second,' he proffered.
I ignored the comment.
'This time I want to make it to the winner's enclosure.'
By now his laptop screen was open, with the Fanstory logo clearly visible.
He looked in my direction. 'Ever heard of these guys, Fanstory,' he enquired.
'Yep,' I replied figuring monosyllabic answers might succeed in curbing conversation. After all I was still in the throes of hunting down words for a suitable sartori for my Haiku.
'Clears my brain after a long day at the office,' he continued. 'Difficult to find a writing site where you get instant feedback. A winning formula.'
I hadn't yet blown my cover. Nonchalantly laying my ipad on the cafe table, he took a sideways peek.
'What are the odds? You're one o'them too, a Fanstorian.'
We both smiled conspiratorially.
'Never met a Fanstorian in the flesh, so to speak,' I said.
'Me neither,' he added.
'Sometimes I think maybe they're just a bunch of robots, like Alexa, posing as flesh and blood poets. Wonder what the Bard would have made of them ?'
Laughing loudly at the suggestion, I replied, 'Never thought of that. Would make a great topic for one of the short story contests.'
'I'm just a Sonnet's man myself,' he continued.
'After a day spent doing spreadsheets there is nothing I love more than penning a Sonnet. Don't really care who reads it or if they like it or not. It soothes my soul. Do you write sonnets?'
'No Sonnets are not for me,' I replied,' more of a short story gal myself,' I answered.
'Oh, you pen some of that sci-fi or who dunnit?'
By now my late train was rolling into the station. Grabbing my ipad, I ran to the platform with a twinge of regret. We hadn't even introduced ourselves but simply merged beneath the umbrella of being Fanstorians, like some newly formed political group.
Glancing back at the Fanstorian bent over his Sonnet, I felt a degree of kinship and a warm glow. Here in the dark days of a pandemic, we Fanstorians, are not only soothing our own spirits with ethereal sentiment but maybe also the spirits of our readers.
Wonder what his penname is?
=======================
That Monday, just after lockdown began to lift, I planned a train journey out of town to catch up with a colleague. Arriving an hour ahead of my train schedule,I waited in line for a comforting hot chocolate and prepped to settle in for the long wait.
Plonking my backpack on the empty seat next to mine, I took a sip of my chocolate and fished out my ipad. Chance for some creativity. Maybe pen a Haiku about a Spring day during Covid. Or a Flash Fiction about unrequited love since the young man standing by the wall looked the picture of dejection. A train station could be a writer's paradise.
Shortly thereafter, a middle-aged man, greying at the temples stood at the socially distanced table alongside mine. I felt irked, not really sure why. Had I begun to relish this extra bit of space in public places? Who knows the myriad of consequences the aftermath of Covid may bring?
He clutched a big tome, with Shakespearian Sonnets emblazoned on the front cover. As I scrolled through my Thesaurus to hunt down some more poetic terms for the ordinary everyday, I heard the man mumbling to himself as he seemed to test metre and rhyme.
Being one of life's introverts, I was happy to work on my ipad and thereby conceal the nature of my activity.
'Damn it,' I heard the man mutter, 'Shakespeare never had to sit in a dilapidated train station on a Monday afternoon to create his masterpiece.'
'How do you know,' I blurted out spontaneously.
Staring at me, over the rim of his reading glasses, his wrinkled face broke into a smile.
'Have to post a Sonnet for the competition,' he murmured, as if talking to no one in particular.
I returned to my ipad and continued my search.
'Last time I came second,' he proffered.
I ignored the comment.
'This time I want to make it to the winner's enclosure.'
By now his laptop screen was open, with the Fanstory logo clearly visible.
He looked in my direction. 'Ever heard of these guys, Fanstory,' he enquired.
'Yep,' I replied figuring monosyllabic answers might succeed in curbing conversation. After all I was still in the throes of hunting down words for a suitable sartori for my Haiku.
'Clears my brain after a long day at the office,' he continued. 'Difficult to find a writing site where you get instant feedback. A winning formula.'
I hadn't yet blown my cover. Nonchalantly laying my ipad on the cafe table, he took a sideways peek.
'What are the odds? You're one o'them too, a Fanstorian.'
We both smiled conspiratorially.
'Never met a Fanstorian in the flesh, so to speak,' I said.
'Me neither,' he added.
'Sometimes I think maybe they're just a bunch of robots, like Alexa, posing as flesh and blood poets. Wonder what the Bard would have made of them ?'
Laughing loudly at the suggestion, I replied, 'Never thought of that. Would make a great topic for one of the short story contests.'
'I'm just a Sonnet's man myself,' he continued.
'After a day spent doing spreadsheets there is nothing I love more than penning a Sonnet. Don't really care who reads it or if they like it or not. It soothes my soul. Do you write sonnets?'
'No Sonnets are not for me,' I replied,' more of a short story gal myself,' I answered.
'Oh, you pen some of that sci-fi or who dunnit?'
By now my late train was rolling into the station. Grabbing my ipad, I ran to the platform with a twinge of regret. We hadn't even introduced ourselves but simply merged beneath the umbrella of being Fanstorians, like some newly formed political group.
Glancing back at the Fanstorian bent over his Sonnet, I felt a degree of kinship and a warm glow. Here in the dark days of a pandemic, we Fanstorians, are not only soothing our own spirits with ethereal sentiment but maybe also the spirits of our readers.
Wonder what his penname is?
=======================
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