Was it paranoia? Perhaps it was, as the train pulled away from the station which was a three-minute walk from Frazier Street maternity hospital, with the little bundle of joy she cradled, sat looking out of the window. Was she being observed? Somebody had been following her she was sure. A man who looked like he slept on the streets. A scruffy individual of no fixed abode. She didn’t like to stare straight at him. In fact...

Liverpool Lime Street train station, nestled in the heart of the city, pulsed with an undercurrent that was felt rather than seen. A grandiose edifice of Victorian ambition, its arched roof and labyrinthine platforms masked an eldritch resonance that only the sensitive could perceive. By daylight, it was a bustling hub of transit, but as dusk descended, the station’s true nature unfurled in subtle, sinister whispers. Magg...

Playing truant was always appealing. Always. Two nine-year-olds deep into their school days would always know better than what adults told them. Your years in school were not the best days of your life, and you don’t need to attend classes to get clever to get good jobs. They knew it all, so didn’t need to bother attending, and why do maths lessons and cross-country runs when it was much more appealing to play on railways...

The book on speaking Italian was of no interest to him, despite looking at it with apparent interest. He was in fact, surreptitiously looking through the shelves of books in the library at the computers where he had a good view of what people were looking at on the internet or just in general. Michael Booth was 62 years of age, and looked quite a few years older. He had grey, wavy hair, and was fairly plump. His belt was...

Each night beneath the kindly moon’s soft radianceWe make again that joyful connection of loveVulnerable in our emotional nakednessAs we bare the most profound feelings of our heartsAll too soon the hour of parting is upon usCatching us unaware in our communionThe whistle of the passing train is the sad signalThat we must reluctantly say goodnight, sweet dreamsCome away with me on a romantic adventureAnd succumb to the sa...

The word 'divorce' was becoming more and more frequent in his mind, as though pervading his consciousness like an unwelcome image, which to Neil Parker, it was. He had just ended a phone conversation with his wife. It was an argument over how much she was spending. It was quite petty really, considering it was simply about buying extra food for their dog. Neil had said they didn’t need it, as there was plenty to last unti...

An older woman Reading on the light rail, In her purse, a bottle of water With these words on the label, "Source of an Epic Life." I shift my gaze back out the window, And face reality.

All aboard the train for runaways, We'll take you somewhere near or far. Now it's time to get away, Guaranteed faster than that stolen car. Jump on board the train for runaways, Escape the world of abuse. We have adventures day by day, Promised not to be too obtuse. Get on in the train for runaways, Now now, don't be shy. Be it to a city or to a quite bay, And no more reasons to cry. Safe inside the train for runaways, Re...

Coach B is the Quiet Coach. It is a good place to think, to reflect and from which to draw inspiration. It is a silent movie and my mind writes the title cards. I always travel in Coach B, though it is always at the far end of the platform. For four and a half hours, it is my high-speed cocoon in which complete anonymity is mine for the taking. I smile as I board; I like this place. Though I travel alone, I book a table s...

The last suburban train got preponed. I didn't apprehend, for it wasn't regular.Some railway porters consoled me a while,  Perhaps they thought I was in trouble. There was none else left on the platform.  I mean, somebody, who had a definite home to return.  I carried no luggage other than my backpack.  I really needed no porter to assist me. The problem was not that I missed the last train,  For no fault of my own since...