Dusty Ride

Sneezing right now just might damage my brain cells and clothes. John’s nose crinkles and the sneeze is snuffed. Looking around at his sleep cabin mates, his young dusty skin shines in the array of old and weathered men strewn asleep on the floor.
Every morning i go to the mines in this train, the horizon doesn’t change, dawn or dusk irrelevant to my miner eyes. I can’t help but think maybe I’ll end up like them, stuck in time. The endless vicious cycle of this ghostly outback town in Australia’s huge dust bowl.
His mind whispers; “Jump off now”.


Word Count: 100
Written for Friday Fictioneers: 10 APRIL 2015

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