I could stand here for a minute, an hour, days.
Whenever the train comes, I could move.
I could just stand here in the tracks.
I could feel it first in my shoes, the rumbling of the power and heaviness.
I could hear it, coming down the valley, around the trees, shuffling leaves off as it passes.
The whistle will blow as it always does when coming to the bridge, but I could stand here.
I could see it coming closer, my shoes vibrating from its strength.
The whistle is so loud, I could cover my ears.
I could let the train overtake me, swift and crushing.
I could not even feel it.
I could hear the whistle, the screaming, squealing brakes that cannot stop.
I could feel myself dying, feeling nothingness around me.
I could be nothing.