Road #1LinerWeds


All roads led to somewhere, but what if they don’t? What if there is just nothing and everyone is lost?

(Inspired by; with thanks).



She wanted to find the solitude that had always been denied to her.


Old Rosella, the gypsy fortune teller, sells red roses on the city’s streets. All day she wanders tirelessly, calling out to passers-by and trying to trade the flowers in her hands. Her long heavy skirts drag and jingle on the floor. The bracelets coating her arms jangle alongside them and the beads in the woollen shawl covering her shoulders clink together.

In broken, but good English, she tells kissing lovers, ‘beautiful love. A rose for you.’

To woman, she calls, ‘a rose to bring passions to you. To bring you lucky love life.’

To men, she calls, ‘for your girl to show your promise love.’

They ignore her or give some excuse and move on. Rosella, doesn’t despair, but finds more people and walks through the evening, selling to the night crowd. Before it becomes too dark, she heads for home, clutching drooping steams and yet, somehow she sells a handful of roses every day.

To the edge of the city and the remains of an abandoned factory she goes. Nestled within the crumbling block concrete walls and open to the starry sky is her home- a tradition gypsy caravan. Not many people come this way and those that do stay clear of the pretty coloured wheeled home. She went in and sitting down, but the roses into a vase. She lit her little stove and settled in for the night, knowing that tomorrow she would have to roam the streets again trying to make what little money she could.

On The Train

James had become so engrossed in finishing off his essay that he’d missed his stop. With his noise cancelling headphones on, playing The Natural Sounds Of The World album, he hadn’t heard the station call out. Plus, his mind was fully set on the laptop screen before him and the crumpled paper notes scattered across the small table.

He hadn’t felt at all guilty about taking up a whole table and four seats on the train during morning rush hour as he had sneaked into first class and hardly anyone was in the carriage with him. Being the lazy and fun loving college student that he was, he had been out partying last night and thus not the all-nighter working on his essay that he should have done.

He was near completing the damn thing, when something caught his eye and he looked up at the window. Large snowflakes were splattering against the glass and with the dark grey sky the visibility outside had dropped. Frowning, James pulled off his headphones and looked at the announcement screen above the carriage door. The time was a little past nine and the next stations weren’t ones he recognised.

Panic hit him and scrambling up, he went to find someone. As he entered the next carriage, his hip hit the elbow of a business man reading a newspaper.

‘What train is this?’ James asked, breathlessly.

‘The one to Glasgow,’ the man replied.

‘Glasgow? Did it stop at Lancaster?’

‘Yes. We are at Lockerbie now, so you’ve missed it by a good few stops.’

‘Can I get off here and go back?’ James said desperately.

‘I don’t know, sorry,’ the man answered and turned back to his newspaper.

Growling, James hurried back and packed all his things away in his rucksack. As the train pulled into the station, he waited by the doors and got off. The station was tiny and worriedly he looked around for a ticket office and didn’t spot one. However, he did see a train table on the other side from him and Lancaster was listed as a stop.

He headed for the small bridge, crossed over and double checked the sign. Luckily, there was a train due in a few minutes. He lent against a wall, watching the snowfall and kicking himself until the train arrived.