Back in the day, Station Master Mike Harris used to find that running his branch line was so much fun, it wasn’t like work at all. He always had a spring in his step as he climbed the stairs to his control room. Under his arm was a pack-up lunch and a thermos flask of sweet, milky tea to last him for the shift.
People said he had the railways in his blood. His dad had been Station Master before him, and he’d helped Mike get established in the early days.
But Mike was keen to do things his own way. He realised that for his railway to survive, he had to integrate with other services. He had made improvements and efficiencies, and the little branch line developed into a thriving community transport hub. He had overseen the construction of a connected bus station, and even the road links had been improved.
All that seems long ago now. The branch line lies deserted and mothballed. No one comes here any more. Mike no longer climbs those stairs. It seems like he’s retired from a life on the railways.
After his dad bought him that telescope, Mike lost interest in his model train set in the attic. Now, like many twelve year olds, he spends much of his time just staring into space.
This story was prompted by Sunday Photo Fiction, September 7th 2014, hosted by Al Forbes.
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To view the other entries in this challenge, click the blue frog.