Tchi’i says tornadoes sound like trains when they’re heading for you. I wonder how many she’s stared down because she boasts knowing from experience. Near-experience, I half-lament.
Curious, I inquire, “Does anyone say trains sound like tornadoes?” Trains ride restrictive rails; tornadoes tear free. Some fortunate people might be more frequented by dervishes dancing out of the sky.
She chides my knowing what dervishes are and admonishes my reveries (in plainer terms). “It’s the same old arrogance ingrained everywhere, elevating artificial over natural.”
The air rattles as Tchi’i hauls trinkets we no longer care about to peddle outside the station.
Submitted to Ad Hoc Fiction for Issue 148 of their weekly flash competition, driven by the mandatory word ‘Train.’