“Told you so!” I croaked to Sal as we approached the stationary freight train. “You said it was a mirage — a goddamn Fata Morgana. Well, ain’t no goddamn mirage.” Sal didn’t have the energy to respond.
We were spent, having walked for hours in the desert Sun in search of water or shelter. I touched the train: It was real. But it was also silent and seemed abandoned. The freight cars radiated like ovens in the desert Sun. They were no shelter.
My eyes had no tears to shed as I turned to Sal in dispair. “Sal? … Sal?” He was not there.
An entry to this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt. I must say I struggled with this one! I checked the photograph early yesterday morning thinking I would get the jump on it, but I couldn’t really put any kind of story together. All kinds of things came to me, but nothing that I could hammer into a complete story — just a series of incomplete, disconnected thoughts. So I put it away and mulled it over yesterday and this morning before finally something reasonably complete came to me. 🙂