Walking Alone


4. Train Track of My Life

It seemed like I'd been walking for years, but that's how long it takes me to cast my mind back on the good things about Finley, there are that few. I reached the deserted train track, where my life began, and where mum and dad's lives ended. That was the first time I ever remembered anything about their deaths. Mum told Finley to take me, and look after me like I was his own. That failed. Mum was slowly fading away, dying in the smoke, she had a large gash on her head, and it was bleeding badly, and the blood rushed down her cheek and neck, like a fountain, but worse. Dad tried to get her out of the wreckage, but he collapsed, and that's the last Finley and I heard from them.

That's the reason that I wasn't old enough to feel pain. I was born on the train that killed my parents, I was a matter of minutes old, when the train went careering off of the tracks, and I never saw my mother and father again. It was in the middle of winter, and mum had not wanted to go to the hospital in the middle of the night, in the freezing cold, but she had no choice, because her waters had broken, and I was on my way. About three quarters of the way through the journey, the contractions were really strong, and I was born, at exactly midnight, on the first chime of Big Ben. It mustn't have been the best late Christmas present for Finley, but he seemed pretty content, playing with the small tuft of hair on my head, and tickling my tiny feet. He was only four, and it was hardly the kind of thing he expected to be doing at that age. Instead of playing with other boys of his age, and going to pre-school, he was looking after me, a new born baby, with no recollection of her parents, or the dreadful train accident for that matter.

It was all my fault...

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