Trains

The pain in my frontal lobe tells me it’s happening again. Little lightning bolts striking inwards, licking my cerebral cortex with quick, electric tongues.


These two sentences represent the only fiction I've produced in over a month. I thought I could go somewhere with this, and I probably can, but the train had trouble leaving the station, so to speak. Fortunately the massive check I received from Walkabout for my story means I don't have to submit new work for some time. Oh, yeah, I almost forgot that Walkabout is a free journal exclusive to the CU campus and has no money to publish, let alone pay, its writers. Guess it's time to push the damn train out of the station.