Could she feel my presence as I did hers? Perhaps she sensed me for she began to cry, her body wracked by sobs. Tears that tortured my soul. I could feel the emotion, but no liquid tears could be shed by a ghost. I heard her sobs, joined by the silent tortured outcry of a my soul. A ghost could shed no liquid tears, only feel the pain of emotion. I remembered the sounds of the truck’s breaks squealing behind me. The sight of the train speeding toward the crossing. I had seen the blinding lights, those rushing down the track and those of the truck through the rear window, just before the first sound of crushing metal as the semi struck me from behind, pushing me directly into the path of the charging juggernaut of iron. I relived the moment of panic, knowing I had only moments to escape the car before the smash of a deadly train. My fingers just reaching the seatbelt release before the impact of the railroad engine on the door inches from me. My next memory was of floating free from. She had been sent here to meet a man she had never met. The only instructions she had received were time, location and make sure she was wearing a maxi dress. So here she was sat at a table outside a still relatively quiet city centre pub suitably attired. Her hair was pulled back in a casual style, just a hint of makeup to emphasise her natural beauty and over-sized sunglasses pushed up into her hair. She knew that although few could carry this look off as effortlessly that she appeared as a typical mother about town, unlike most of the other identikit ladies Lydnsay embraced her inner public slut and was endeavouring to raise it to an art form.The single glass of red wine, a red zinfandel, sat on the table before her. Occasionally she would raise it to her lips and savour the deep richness of its flavour. Like the wine Lyndsay had allowed herself to develop into who she was rather than become available too early, had matured from through a rose to a full red as it were.There was a.
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