An OtherWhere story
By Garry Grierson
Copyright 2011 Garry Grierson
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John Bedford stopped his car at the far end of the busy station parking area. He locked the door and turned to look at the wasteland which bordered the station grounds. A neglected tangle of overgrown shrubbery and wild-grass, it was separated only by an unkempt hedge and a rusty old gate. He stared into the wasteland and waved at the man who wasn’t there. The man who wasn’t there smiled as he waved back.
The station was old and, like so many others, had recently been automated. John walked to the end of the cracked concrete platform and stood in the same spot as he always did and gazed around the station. It had been allowed to crumble. “People have no pride in the past anymore,” he whispered to the wind.